Harry & the Slow Bloom
by FurryNemesis
Summary: Chapter 11 Up. The High Council of the Wizengamot meets, and Fudge's time as Minister is running out.
1. Chapter 1: A fall and a discovery

**Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom**

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Harry Potter rolled over into a left turn and pulled the broom around hard. Heart pumping, he snapped out into level flight, feeling it flex slightly below him. He was headed out towards the lake on the third night of the term, enjoying his broom, enjoying the feeling of being home at Hogwarts again. Crouching low over the handle, he skimmed over the moonlit water, feeling the wind in his hair and the tight excitement that came from flying like this. To think that some people we scared of this! He banked hard and headed towards the Forest, still flying low, thinking of the Quidditch season to come, thinking how good it would feel to finally chase a snitch again after two months of holiday. He flew higher, skirting the forest on his right, following its curve back towards Hagrid's hut. Suddenly he heard a leathery flapping of wings dead ahead and saw a Thestral rise above the treetops, mist billowing from its nostrils as it fought for height. Harry winced at the thought of crashing into it unseen as he might have done in earlier days – and then realised that he'd rather, much rather have Cedric back or …_ Sirius_. The thought hit him like a brick to the head as he swerved to avoid it. He still couldn't quite believe it. The past three years had been a whirlwind as he had discovered his Godfather, had found part of his family, almost, if you counted Lupin too… and then lost him so very suddenly down in the bowels of the Ministry with no chance to even say goodbye…

His thoughts were wandering, which is why he never saw the branch. It was quite a thin branch, but it still knocked him out of trim. He was badly winded, he was heading for the ground… he wrenched the broom up and around and impacted ten yards out of the forest, rolling and bouncing over and over into the blackness looming in his mind, letting it swallow him.

He awoke to two faces looking anxiously down upon him through the haze. His head hurt, as did his shoulder. He momentarily forgot about them as pain flashed through him.

"It looks like he's finally waking up. Do you think he'll be all right, Professor?"

"We shall see. Give him time, Miss Granger; he's had a bad crash."

"I've never seen anything like it, sir. I thought he was…gone."

"It seems as though our Mr Potter is more resilient than most. And now I must be gone before Madam Pomfrey has cause to remind me once again that she permits only one visitor at a time."

With that, the man in the sky-blue cloak walked out of the room, leaving a worried-looking, bushy-haired girl behind him.

"Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"

"Ugh…. Hermione, what happened? And can I have my glasses?" Harry tried to sit up, and then found that his leg was in plaster. Plaster? Since when had Madam Pomfrey ever had to use plaster to patch people up?

"Hermione, where am I? Why's my leg in plaster?"

Hermione looked sad and upset.

"Harry, that was no ordinary fall. You must have hit the ground at over a hundred miles an hour, everyone thought that you'd gone into a coma! Madam Pomfrey did the best she could but your arm was a wreck and your leg was mangled. She had to let them heal properly, magic can heal broken bones but there were so many splinters that she wanted to send you to St. Mungo's until you recovered! I…we were so scared! You've been out for two whole days!

"Two days? What happened? I remember the Thestral…. and then, nothing…."

"We all saw it, Harry. You were flying past the common room when it happened. I brought a penseive, look."

Harry looked to his left and saw a stone bowl on the table next to him. It was filled with swirling grey mist. He closed his eyes and dipped his hand inside….

Everything went black, and then he was standing in the Gryffindor common room, looking out of the window. Ron was by his side, mouth agape. Hermione was next to Ron, eyes wide open, staring at something beyond the tree line.  He followed their stares and saw himself coming out of the forest in an obviously out-of-control dive. High above, a branch was twanging back and forth – the connection was plain to see. Harry sucked in his breath as his younger self approached the ground fast. By the looks of it, he'd missed all the trees, and at least he was around to see it happen again. Harry saw himself hit the ground at an angle, his Firebolt bouncing away into the darkness as he skidded and rolled and tumbled across the ground straight into Hagrid's pumpkin patch. The crowd around him gasped, and Ron, Hermione and several others dashed out of the portrait hole, but not before Harry saw Hagrid bounding up the path towards the school, holding his unconscious body in his hands. He faded out of the memory and fell back into his bed.

"You see, Harry? We thought we'd find you…."

"Dead? Looks like I'd have taken some of Hagrid's pumpkins with me then".  Harry looked tired and pale, and his attempt at gallows humour hadn't gone unnoticed. Hermione hadn't told him how worried she'd been. It wasn't necessary. It was written all over her voice.

"I must have given you all a fright", he stated.

Hermione bit back a sob.

"Oh, Harry, you have no idea! When Hagrid came pounding up to the Hospital Wing we were all there and so was Malfoy, he'd seen it all, he was being evil and saying things like you'd never fly again, and that you'd make a good quaffle, and then everyone just went for their wands and well…. Look over there" She smiled a wonky kind of smile as her eyes came to rest on a bowl of evil – smelling, oily-looking silver substance resting on a bed in the middle of the ward. Harry choked on his own air, trying not to laugh.

"You turned Malfoy into _that_? But… but…."

"Well, me and the rest of the common room. He _was_ outnumbered about forty to one".

Harry grinned at her from his sheets, his limbs forgotten for the time being.

"I suppose everyone got detention? Even you, Miss Perfect?"

Hermione blushed and then smiled at him from her chair. "Actually, I don't think they ever worked out who did the most damage. So it was a blanket one hundred points from the entire house total and no free time for a week, although after your crash, no-one seems to be keen on flying any more. Ron's even caught a few Slytherins selling Thestral Detectors; he confiscated the lot of course".

"Crabbe and Goyle?"

"They've been up here every day to check on what's left of Malfoy, but it wasn't them. From what Madam Pomfrey tells me he'll take a while to reconstitute – although it happens often enough." She smiled the smile again. Harry felt much better – and, at the same time, weak.

"Um…"

"Harry, he got hit by about thirty different spells. His body broke down at the molecular level. His mind's still there, it's just that his body couldn't take it. The spell that they use takes time, so I reckon he'll be back in about two weeks."

"Pity, he looks good like that…. Although personally I didn't think that he could get any slimier" Harry looked up, barely registering the fact that he'd told his first joke in months. He saw Hermione standing there looking anxious again.

"Oh, let him rot, I thought you'd died and Ron and I were just standing there blank with terror. Get well soon, do you hear me? Ron says he'll be up later – he has potions".

Given the current state of Snape's favourite student, Harry thought it was the funniest thing in a long time. He laughed out loud. Hermione waved as she departed for Arithmancy. Harry felt like he was flying again.

It was two days later, and Harry's leg was itching like mad. According to Mme Pomfrey this was a good sign, although Harry couldn't walk yet. Frequent doses of Skele-gro potion had left him feeling weak again, but his bones were mending faster. His skin was starting to itch under the dressings – another good sign, but irritating nonetheless. He had started to catch up on some badly-overdue homework – it was, after all, his first year of NEWTs – and was just finishing his essay on Camouflage charms when Ron stepped into the room. Harry looked up from his work that had become spread all over his knees, delighted to see his friend.

"You took your time, mate! I suppose Snape didn't let you out?" Harry silently cursed Snape – when would he let up?

"You know what he's like, and it was luck that Hermione saw you first! We were taking shifts, you know… blast, just like her to be around when you come to. Anyway Snape went mad when we gloopified Malfoy, he was ranting on about expelling all of us, but as it was a Gryffindor thing, McGonagall dealt with it. Lucky for us, otherwise we'd all have ended up as his personal slaves or something." Ron looked glum. "Still, gated…ugh. We've had to miss our Quidditch practice thanks to her, that's bad enough already." Harry, who knew that McGonagall was as keen as the rest of them to retain the Quidditch cup, and who rarely let homework get in the way of their bi-weekly practices, could only wonder at the extent of her displeasure. He sighed.

"Madam Pomfrey says that I should be out of here in a week". He tapped his bandages, fervently wishing that he could rip them off. Ron looked puzzled.

"Is that how muggles do it then? Dad's got a load of stuff that he smuggled out of St. Mungo's from last year, all sort of junk, like bits of tubes and really small metal buttons with wires coming out of them and rolls and rolls of cloth. He says that sometimes even the Healers there have to use muggle remedies, remember when he tried to get that trainee to sow his skin back on or something? Something to do with disembowelling cats, I think". Ron shrugged. "Anyway that's good news, we'll have to get a move on now with the Quidditch, Ginny's already volunteered to be your backup in case anything nasty happens."

"What….?"

"Slytherin won't be too happy with what we've done to their darling little seeker, will they? And you can bet your life that when Malfoy gets his act together…" They both sniggered "…he's going to be even more pissed off than Snape. In fact, Hermione and I have put  our heads together and come up with a little plan to keep you safe until you're on the pitch. Failing that….. I wonder how much more damage I could do without getting suspended? It'd keep him off his feet, but first match is four weeks away and he's due out in two…pity, I heard they put in Goyle's little brother as a replacement seeker". Ron cast a sad glance over to the basin and fingered his wand "It'd make life so easy….."

Harry choked on a chocolate frog from the huge pile of sweets beside his bed. "You'd better not let Hermione hear you say that!"

"Yeah…. Pity I'm a prefect…." Ron absent-mindedly buffed his badge with his sleeve.

"I can imagine….. "RONALD WEASLY….etc.etc.etc" I doubt if even McGonagall could make it worse" Harry grinned at the scared look on Ron's face.

"Blimey, Harry, you don't know the worst of it. Nobody will ever tell the teachers, but Hermione must have been so angry. You know she was there when Malfoy came out with all those things, right?

"Yeah, but the way she said it, everyone started chucking hexes about the moment he opened his mouth".

"That bit's true enough. What she didn't tell you is that she threw the first one. I wasn't far behind, but believe me, if you'd seen her face just then… she was scary, Harry, I've never seen anything like it, I thought she was going to use the Cruciatus curse or something."

"What did she use?"

"The Reductor curse. She blew his wand to matchwood, that's why he didn't have a chance to fight back. She was aiming for his throat at one point. I hit him with a Full Body Bind and after that he didn't have a chance. We left him oozing down the stairs." Ron grinned at the happy memory. Harry tried hard to imagine the scene, and then picked up his quill. "I suppose I'd better get on with this then", he said gloomily "It was due in yesterday but between Dark Arts and Transfiguration I haven't had a chance to actually finish it. What's the new teacher like anyway?" Ron's face lit up in a cheeky smile. "I think I'll let you find out for yourself". He looked at the clock on the wall and let out a gasp. "Harry, break's nearly over. Oh bloody hell, and it's Muggle studies next too! See you later!

Harry stared after his best friend, more questions buzzing in his mind. Hermione, magically attacking Malfoy? What was going on? True, she'd punched him in the face in their second year, but apart from that she'd almost never used force against him, preferring stone-cold stares and crossed arms to hexes and jinxes. He looked across the Penseive that Hermione had left behind. Presumably they were so swamped with work that their visits were confined to one every couple of days or so, which had left him alone with it for the moment. Had she been defending herself or Harry's name when she'd blasted Malfoy? What had actually happened? Why had she gone overboard in such a spectacular way? The answer, he was beginning to suspect, was the simple fact that she was changing and growing up, reacting to threats more forcefully. Ever since the Ministry incident in June she'd been more wary, more…yes, more maternal. Harry had almost missed the change, thinking simply that she'd reverted to her more bookish, bossy self for a while. It had taken him half of the summer to realise that she was actually looking out for all three of them, making sure that they didn't do anything too daft or dangerous, or indeed anything that exposed them too much. Harry had drawn the line at her insistence that he stop playing Quidditch outside The Burrow, leaving her worried and cross. Even Ron had seen it.

 There was also a feline-ness about her that neither of them had really seen before. It was true that she'd filled out over the summer a little. Her legs had – suddenly, it seemed – had become more shapely under the fabric of her jeans and her robes now hid a definite bulge in the chest region. Harry himself was still the same slim, ruffle-haired boy that he'd always been, but both he and Ron were conscious of the fact that they had started to put on muscle. But it wasn't so much the physical changes that Harry had noticed. No, what he'd seen was a gradual change from girl to woman, in many different ways. She'd started looking after all of them, certainly, but he was almost sure that he was the object of most of her attention. He'd caught her at it often enough, but then he could be wrong…

Hermione toyed with her soup, not really engaging in the conversation around her. She was worried. Worried about her two best friends, certainly, but mostly worried about Harry. He'd come out of the ministry having duelled with Bellatrix Lestrange and having faced Voldemort in direct combat for the second time in as many years. He was hollow-eyed and listless for a few weeks after Sirius's death, and she'd made a real effort to talk to him. Gradually, he'd opened up about life at Privet Drive and the indignities he suffered there every summer. His uncle had seemed to let off for a few days this time, no doubt a direct result of having been warned directly by the Order. Their knowledge of Harry's home situation, however, hadn't helped. Harry had had to perform his tasks as usual, even if he was now allowed unfettered access to his magical items and supplies – a specific order from Alastor Moody. He was still treated like an object, and it was only his evacuation to The Burrow in the third week of the holidays that had saved him from an all-pervasive funk. Hermione could see something else, though. It was in his eyes, she thought, those lovely green eyes that had previously held hope and determination. It was the look of an animal that knew that it was being hunted, that was trying to prepare for an attack, but without any idea of the nature or size of it. It was fear, not for himself, but for the future. That was what she saw. She'd spend ages looking into his eyes while he was distracted elsewhere, trying to find a clue to what it was that he feared so much. It must have been something specific, not just the fact the Voldemort was now back and gathering power once more. That was a more general evil; she sought details and so far she'd drawn a blank.

By the time Harry crashed, she was no closer to an answer. But she had made up her mind about a number of things. Harry was, in some way, a marked man. That much had been obvious from the day he had received that scar, but now it was far more pronounced. He deserved to be protected by whatever means necessary from any harm. He needed something to take his mind off whatever it was that was the cause of such pain in those wonderful eyes. Hermione Granger looked up, and their gazes locked for an instant. They both froze, spoons halfway to their mouths. Harry's eyes had that exact look. Her eyes widened in shock at the recognition and the fact that she'd been caught staring, or so it would seem to Harry. Whatever happened, she couldn't get involved with him. It would cause far too many complications.

Harry eyed the Penseive, remembering the time he'd been caught in Snape's memories, and the time before that, at Barty Crouch's trial down in the bowels of the Ministry – a room that he'd seen with his own eyes the summer before. There was no doubt that the Penseive was a powerful tool, but if Hermione's memory of four nights ago wasn't in there, then using it would be a waste of time. He looked at the surface closely, watching the thoughts swirl round in a spiral, trying to pick out anything that looked like the hospital wing corridor, anything that would help him get his bearings and lead him to the fight.

It was then that he saw the lettering around the very rim of the bowl. They were gibberish, it seemed, but with a certain sense to them. Intrigued, Harry peered closer. They read:

_Fort__hosew__ hos eekt het houghtsi nside, _

_Whof indw hato therst ryt ohide, _

_Bes uret oa rmy ourm entals elf, _

_Her ethought sar elaido uto nas helf, _

_Bewarey ourf eelingss tayy ourh eart, _

_Ih avec ausedl ivest of alla part, _

_Therea ren of actsn ora bsolutes, _

_Youk nowt hisi fy ous eekt het ruth,_

_Ia mn omer ethough tbow  lsee,_

_Youc annoth idey ourt houghtsf romm e_

_Ise eth ememoriesi nside_

_Ise eth etrut hbehin dal llies  _

_Soh eedt hisw arningb eaware,_

_Perparet ohav eal lthing slaidb are,_

_Buti fy ouw ouldp roceedb egin,_

_Ag entlet apw ill ety oui n._

In a flash, Harry saw what he had to do. He groped for his wand and tapped the letters very lightly. They started to glow blue, and the thought-stuff speeded up inside. He concentrated hard on Hermione, Malfoy and the fight. All of a sudden the letters shifted to a dark, foreboding red and the direction of spin reversed. The image settled on Hagrid pounding through a very familiar-looking door. Harry plunged his head into the bowl. A familiar falling sensation enveloped him, and he landed hard on the stone floor of the corridor outside just as a crowd of people in red and gold-trimmed robes rushed past.

She was at the front, hair flying, robes a mess as she dashed through the door. Ron was right behind her.

"Miss Granger, NO! You will leave right now! No visitors!" a sharp voice said. The door slammed shut with such force that the rest of the group jumped. Out in the corridor fragments of argument could be heard. The words "badly hurt" "best friend" and "right to know" filtered through, but after thirty seconds she stalked out, face streaked with tears and white with rage. Ron, holding onto her arm, looked ashen.

"Madam Pomfrey says no visitors at all, and no presents either!" she hissed between gritted teeth. "She won't say how bad it is."

Someone at the back said "How bad can it be? I mean… it's not as if she's ever… you know… failed…"

Hermione sniffed back more tears. "There's blood everywhere, and worse… I don't know, I just don't know." She buried her face in her hands and started to push through the throng when a cold voice laced with positive delight drawled:

"Well now, what have we here? It seems as though Potter's finally got what's coming to him."

"HERMIONE, NO!" yelled Ron as she surged forwards. He grabbed the back of her robes to restrain her. "We can't, we're supposed to show an example, we're prefects, remember?"

Malfoy looked delighted.  "I'm glad you've come to your senses, Weasel. After all, you wouldn't want either of you to lose your precious badges, would you?"

"The same goes for you, you evil sod. Get lost." Hermione sounded dangerously close to losing control.

"Such words, mudblood. He'll never fly again, you know. Still, I suppose he'd make a good Quaffle, from what I hear he's half skinned already, the little fool…"

Ron let go of Hermione as he dashed forwards, but she beat him to it. Harry found himself standing halfway between his two best friends, who had both taken out their wands, and Malfoy, who was looking at them, apparently amused at the sight of them both. Time seemed to slow, and suddenly Harry heard Hermione's voice echo inside his head.

_"No, you bastard, not this time. I won't let you get away with it this time, you've done enough damage already."  _  

Harry jumped. Was this what the poem had been talking about? The ability to hear a person's stored thoughts?

Draco spoke again. "Going to attack me, Weasel, Mudblood? What good could that possibly do?

"It would stop you from hurting him again." Hermione said in a freezing, quiet voice.

"Oh, such concern for one's friends. How…touching. You must be in love, Mudblood. How sad, that he's never reciprocated."

_"I resigned myself to that long ago, you shit. I don't care anymore. I'll still look after him, even if I have to face every foul thing along the way."_

"After all, look at you…. Pffft."

_"You'll never know, Malfoy. You'll never know how much he means to me. You'll never know how much I love him. I doubt that you even know the meaning of the word."_

"How could he love an ugly bookworm like you?"

_"I still love him, you evil, crawling thing."_

"Lost for words, Granger? Hmm?"

_"No."_ "REDUCO!" For Harry, everything went into slow motion.

He saw the spell erupt from her wand at the same time that he saw her face. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling slightly, looking peaceful.

_"Harry, this is for you. I don't care about the rules anymore. Not if I can't protect you."_

Malfoy never had a chance. He could only watch Hermione's spell smash into his wand and blow it into powder. Such was the force behind it that he was lifted off his feet, and he slammed into the stone balustrade behind him. All at once the crowd fanned out, wands pointed at him. Ron stepped forwards.

_"Now we'll see how tough you really are."_

"You've done enough damage here." His voice was ice. "Petrificus Totalus!" Malfoy froze, slumped against the balustrade, unable to move.

"Hermione, come with me. We have no place here. You others…" He turned to face the rest of the crowd. "Give him hell".

They walked off down the corridor as spell after spell hit the immobilised Malfoy, turning the area around him into a glowing, coruscating display. Harry was torn between watching his worst enemy get turned into sludge and finding out what would happen to his two best friends. He looked over his shoulder: already Madam Pomfrey was out of the door, with Hagrid close behind her. Minerva McGonagall stood a little way down the hall, face aghast, mouth working in horror at the sight before her eyes. It was savage. Malfoy had turned sliver and was starting to melt, streams of liquid flowing down the stairs to one side of him. She seemed to come to her senses and whipped out her wand.

"FINITE INCANTATEM!", she screamed above the noise of magic. Everything stopped. Everyone stood stock still. The only sound came from what was left of Malfoy's body. It was making a sort of plinking sound, like metal when it cools down from very high temperatures.

McGonagall walked towards the group with murder in her eyes. "What, _exactly_, is going on?"

Harry felt it was high time to leave. He felt a hand upon his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2: Repercussions

**Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom Chapt 2:**

**Repercussions ******

**__**

**_I don't own Harry Potter. Happy now?_**

He looked around and the pale, lined face of Remus Lupin smiled back at him.

"Lupin!? Er… Professor? What…how…?"

"I thought I might find you in this, Harry. It looks like you've put it to good use already. You were always one for working things out." Lupin smiled a tired smile. "To answer your previous question… let's just say that I misread some reactions. Many of my school friends were positively disgusted with my sacking three years ago, as were the parents who thought that, for all my shortcomings, I was doing a good job. So with one thing and another I've got it back." He burst into a grin as Harry's mouth dropped wide open.

"_You're_ the new Dark Arts teacher? But what about your work for the Order? What about your alter ego?" gasped Harry. Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted one of the Order to waste time on teaching children?

Lupin smiled again, guessing what was going through Harry's mind. "Harry, Dumbledore _asked_ me to come back. He knows that having a good teacher, in this particular subject, at this particular time, is far more important than any work I could possibly do for the Order. I'm just happy that I can fill the post."

Harry was lost for words. Here was Lupin, his father's friend, his teacher and mentor a few years ago, back from what Harry could only think of as self-imposed exile. He'd known – guessed, really – about Lupin's involvement with the Order as soon as he'd found out about its existence. But a year had passed between his resignation and Voldemort's return, and there had been no word from him during that time. Harry, troubled, suddenly had a lot of questions.

"Welcome back, Professor. I mean that. But I think", he said slowly "that we need to talk".

Lupin looked troubled. "Later, Harry. I came to check up on you, but right now I'm needed elsewhere. I'll take us out." Harry cast a glance back towards the group of Gryffindors who were now being marched away practically at wand-point by McGonagall. At least things hadn't turned out too badly. A hundred points was a bad blow by anyone's standards, especially at the start of term, but Harry was just grateful that everyone was safe – apart from the silver puddle that had been Malfoy.

Lupin took out his wand. "Finite memoria", he said softly. The next second everything had faded to white and Harry was back in his bed, the Penseive looked normal once more, and Lupin was on his way out.

"The Room, Harry. As soon as you can walk. In the meantime, get well quickly." Lupin smiled at him again and shut the door behind him, leaving behind an even-more-confused Harry. Ron, Hermione, and now Lupin. What on earth was going on?

It was the evening of the same day. The sun had set long before and the gas lamps in the Hospital Wing had flared into life as soon as the last rays had vanished. Harry was resting on his bed, his bandages undamaged from his excursion into Hermione's memory. After all, his mind wasn't bandaged, and that was what really had made the trip.

Hermione…. They had shared an awful lot of dangerous things together. The troll, the potion riddle in the dungeons, that foul snake in their second year, the dementors and the Ministry, to name but a few. He'd always known, deep down. He just wouldn't acknowledge it. The thought of handing Voldemort yet another life was just too horrible to contemplate. He'd just…fled elsewhere, to Cho, who had never really understood because he had never told her. No, Voldemort wouldn't use Cho. She'd never really meant anything to him, he could see that now. Not after Sirius's…departure. She hadn't been there at the Ministry. She hadn't shared in his world. He'd just been a tool to get closer to the memory of Cedric, he was sure of that. He tried to analyse that thought but it didn't seem to matter any more. Well, there was the proof.

His world had changed. It had snapped back into focus and he'd grown up in an instant. He wasn't the only one. Ron had become more cautious, more protective of them too. He'd never seen that side of Ron before. The coldness, the hate in his eyes. The calculating stare. Ron was older now, maybe scarred from the encounter with the brains. It was as though Ron had become – deep, deep down – clandestinely violent towards anything that threatened his friends. He had been protecting all of them, and Hermione had been protecting…him. Harry. Even through everything that had happened, and his denial of self. And she'd resigned herself to that; she'd understood, in a way. But now, she had become…angrier too.

Suddenly Harry realised that he'd seen the real side of her. She loved him, accepted that he couldn't love her, but still wanted to be by his side and look after him. And she'd taken all the pain and anger that it must have caused her and thrown it into her studies and into her hate of anything that came close to hurting him. No wonder that she'd turned Malfoy's wand into dust. He had almost felt the spell himself. It had had hate behind it, but it hadn't just been that. It had been the kind of hate that is borne out of the desire to protect. The hate that says; "If you want him, face me." Harry could see it all clearly now. Ever since she'd been slashed by the Death-eater's spell in the ministry, in fact. He just hadn't realised.

Again, the Ministry. It all went back to that. They'd been directly attacked and had come through by the skin of their teeth, all of them scarred in different ways. Their world had become darker, more dangerous, and they had adapted to fit it. _"You've done enough damage here"_ Harry shuddered. He'd never, ever heard Ron speak like that, nor heard Hermione swear. This was far beyond slug-vomiting curses and ice-queen stares. This was war.

Harry sat back and sighed. His head was aching again and he wanted to get rid of those damned bandages. He was a useless wreck up here, and all because of a momentary lapse of concentration. And yet…and yet if none of this had happened, he'd have never found out about the changes in his best friends. He wanted to know what Lupin had been up to for that year too. Where had he been, and what had he been doing? The answers that he'd received to his questions had only gone and spawned more questions. Feeling that he could use a penseive of his own, he settled back into his bed and tried to sleep. Maybe he'd wake up to some answers for once.

It was Monday, three days later. A week since the crash and this morning he really wanted to get out of the hospital wing. Unfortunately Madam Pomfrey, as usual when faced with one of Harry's mishaps, was having none of it.

"Mr Potter, seeing as you are one of my most _regular_ patients, I'm not letting you go until I can be utterly sure that you have healed completely." she stated.

Harry looked up at her from the bed with an exasperated look on his face. "My leg is fine. Honestly!" he protested as she looked him over. "My arm was ok yesterday too".

She looked at him sceptically. "I'm still not convinced, Mr Potter. Walk, if you can, but I insist on another day's convalescence for the sake of your leg. Stretch it if you must."

"But…!"

"Or would you prefer that I ban you from flying for another week?"

"What… you can't!"

"Doctor's orders, Mr Potter. Try me." She crossed her arms over her white cloak and glared at him.

Harry admitted defeat and turned back to his Potions essay, lying face-down on the bed with his book on his pillow. Having somehow gained an "O" in that particular subject the previous summer had given him new confidence, and he was now well into his NEWT syllabus. This potion was a particularly nasty one. It was supposed to turn the drinker's skin transparent. "Madam Pomfrey would have loved this one", he thought darkly. "She'd have been all over my intestines. Ugh."

He was surrounded by a fresh pile of books, courtesy of Ron, who had dropped by the day before for a chat and to bring him up to date on his homework. As he reached over and dived into a treatise on Chameleon skin, looking for something to help him with his work, he heard the door open softly. There was only one person, he thought, that would open a door like that. His thoughts switched track to the augmented Penseive, now hidden under the bed.

"Hello, Hermione", he said, making her jump.

"Harry! You gave me a fright! I…came to see how you were; Ron told me that you'll be out of here soon."

Harry's thoughts were racing. She sounded nervous, which was unusual in itself. He guessed that she'd meant to remove the Penseive after her last visit but either hadn't had the time, or had caught him when he was awake. Either way, she'd guessed that he'd had another look inside, and found out her true feelings. Suddenly, the old anger came back. He'd had enough of people not telling him things. Now that he'd caught her trying to sneak the evidence out of reach, he was going to take this one head-on.

"Sorry, Hermione. It's not going to work. I saw the fight. I heard everything. How long, Hermione? How long have you felt like this?" All of a sudden he was bone-tired. His defences were down and his temper drained away. He wanted no more puzzles, he wanted answers. He sat back and closed his eyes, head resting on the headboard of his bed.

She stood rooted to the spot. _"He looked! He knows… oh, God, now what do I do? How can I ever look at him again?"_ All her feelings for him rose up at once. She felt her gorge rise as if she was going to be sick. All her instincts told her to run away. Her logical brain told her that she couldn't keep on avoiding him. Shakily, she pulled up a chair and prepared herself. This was going to hurt: there was no way he'd ever return her feelings for him. He wouldn't allow her to get close. She told him anyway.

"Do you remember the Potion riddle? Ever since then, when you went on all alone to face Quirrel. Every time you did something dangerous I was worried. I didn't want to see you come to any harm." She paused. This was it; she couldn't hold back. Better to tell him now and face the consequences than to hide herself away again. "I love you, Harry. You're kind and decent and protective. I want to be by your side." She felt herself break, a slow tearing feeling in her gut. "I meant what I thought in there. I…I can take it, if you don't feel the same way." She hid her face behind her magnificent hair, unable to look at him.

Harry sat there, devastated. That long? No wonder she'd been so dismissive of Cho, giving him advice, but stopping short of suggesting a proper solution. It must have torn her to pieces. And then it hit him hard: they'd both been hiding.

He raged at himself for being so damned blind. She'd hidden her face and her shoulders were shaking. She deserved better. Never mind holding back. He didn't want to shut himself away any more. Not if this is what it did to her.

"Hermione, look at me. _Look at me_" She looked at him from underneath her curtain of hair, her beautiful face blotchy and streaked with tears.

"I can't hide any longer. There will be" he ripped off the bedcovers "no more" he placed both feet on the ground "pretending. No more hiding" He stood up and put his weight on his injured leg. God it hurt. It was so stiff. But it had to be done.

She looked up. _"What's he doing?"_ He limped over to her chair, his leg on fire – and stumbled. He screwed his eyes shut, expecting to land hard on the white tile floor, expecting to break his leg again. He was braced for pain and humiliation, for her to scream and fetch the matron while he lay sprawled on the floor, unable to move, everything that he wanted to do left undone, all his words left unsaid.

It didn't happen. One second he was falling, the next he was being held tightly, her right arm under his armpit, her hand holding onto the back of his shoulder, her left arm wrapped around his waist. He felt as if he'd been stunned. He couldn't speak.

"Hermione…"

"Didn't you hear me, Harry? I said that I'd protect you from everything. Even if I have to protect you from yourself."

She felt him tense up the moment that she caught him. "_Poor Harry. He's afraid of being touched."_ Her heart melted all over again. It felt good to hold him.

Harry looked into her eyes. _"What the hell was I thinking? I… wait... She's not angry."_

"Harry?"

"I can't pretend any more and I won't hide myself away." He sounded as if he was going to lose control at any moment. "It's him or me, Hermione."

She nodded. "I know. Ever since you said that you didn't want to talk about it, we've known, Ron and I. That's why we did what we did back through there." Her eyes flicked towards the door. "It was for you, Harry."

"I…know. I saw."

"I know you did. You know how I feel." She sounded…quiet, as though some small flame of hope inside her had gone out.

"Hermione…"

"Don't say anything, and it might be all right. I'll cope."

"You don't have to cope any more."

He kissed her gently on the lips. It was soft, hesitant, like the kiss of a lover who knows that they've done wrong and want, more than anything else, to be forgiven. When he pulled back there were tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry I neglected you". He braced himself against her and stood firmly on his feet.

"Harry…" She wanted him back. She wanted to cry.

"I'm such a fool!" He burst into hot, angry tears. "I've been so blind…" He hid his face in her shoulder and sobbed. He felt as if he was falling apart. All the emotions inside him came out at once and he couldn't stop them. Anger at Sirius's death, confusion regarding Hermione, both of these things were at the front of his mind and he couldn't cope.

Hermione hadn't expected this. She was shuddering inside _"He's all alone…"_ She stood too and guided him over to his bed, supporting him. She could see how hard it had been for him to walk… and yet he'd done it. _"For me" _she thought. _"He risked it for me"._ She tried to help him lie down but he clung to her. She looked into his deep green eyes. _"I have to be strong"_ she told herself. _"I love him but I have to be strong right now because he can't be"_

"Harry… lie down. You need to." He didn't seem to want to let go. She sighed inwardly and pushed him gently onto the sheets, her head following and resting on his chest. She'd stay as long as she needed to.

Harry lay there staring up at the ceiling, feeling her cheek against his chest through the loose shift that he wore. _"Whatever was I thinking? Why now? What happens next?" _He sighed, not daring himself to speak. Her head was heavy and warm against his chest, and he didn't want to go away.

They lay there for a long while, both miserable, both drawing strength from the other. The heavy rays of the autumn sun penetrated the stained glass windows of the wing, turning the white linen gold and the glassware to amber. Harry slept, and it was a deep and for once dreamless sleep. Hermione watched him, studying every line of his face. With the last rays of the sun shining onto his bed, there was a sense of timelessness about him, as though he would sleep forever in front of her. She sighed and rested her chin in her cupped hands.

_"Where do we go from here?"_


	3. Chapter 3: Revelations

**Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom Chapter 3: Revelations**

**__**

_1. I don't own Harry Potter. _

_2. I wish I did but…_

_3. I don't._

_4. Happy?_

Thank you to those who've left reviews. Prepare yourselves. From now on, this gets dark and ugly. It's about damn time things got nasty.

Harry slowly woke to a room filled with sunshine. His head didn't hurt anymore, and he'd had the best night's sleep that he could remember. He felt relaxed and he was no longer strung out.

His memories of the night before were confused, as if he'd been watching a film with scenes taken out of it. He remembered breaking down in her arms, telling her that he felt the same way about her as she felt about him, remembered her warm, soft weight against his chest. With a start, he realised that she'd gone, leaving a cold, empty space in the chair next to his bed. He lay back and sighed. Well, she had lessons to go to. There was no use dwelling on it. He'd felt so fragile last night, but it was all out in the open now. There was nothing else he could do apart from wait.

He turned back to his potions essay and finished the last few lines, praising it as an invaluable medical aid that nevertheless had to be used with caution. He held it up to the light streaming through the window, checking it for errors. The parchment glowed a deep yellow, the filigree veins crisscrossing the sheet in crazy scribbles, overlaid with the blue tracery of Harry's rounded script. It was a _good_ essay. Even Snape would find it hard to mark him down on this one.

There. That was it. Until Ron came up to give him even more work, he had nothing to do, and he could feel his brain steering around to himself and Hermione without his bidding. _No, not that. Something less…confused. Hmm, fine. Lupin, then. And Sirius too._

He felt all the old feelings open up. Confusion and sadness mingled with anger and desperation as he brought all the memories back. Sirius locked in the northern tower, bereft of hope, about to have his soul sucked away, astounded to see him and Hermione. Sirius, so happy at Christmastime last year, singing carols in Grimauld Place. Sirius, a surprised look on his face as he fell through the archway into eternity.

He had been almost the last link to his parents, their best man at their wedding. He was as close to a family as Harry had ever had, and now he was gone. Harry shut his eyes as a lump rose in his throat. He should never have gone to the ministry. He should have studied Occlumency harder with Snape. He shouldn't have said all those horrible things to Dumbledore. What good had it done, in the end?

_Enough. You torture yourself too much, you know._ _It's like Lupin said. He would have wanted to go down fighting. So what are you going to do? Mope around here or go and get some answers?_

He decided to listen to the little voice inside for once. It was the same one that had frozen him to the spot when Cho Chang had kissed him last year, the one that had told him that he'd been walking into a trap last June. Maybe he was going mad, but that was it. He was suddenly fed up with this place and he wanted out. He said as much to Madam Pomfrey. She turned a stony face on him.

"Very well, Mr Potter. Your leg will be stiff for a few days until the muscles ease up. In the meantime… "

She drew a cube in the air around his knee. It glowed golden for a moment and then vanished. Harry eased himself out of bed and stood on the cold floor. He took a tentative step forwards and gasped. His knee joint felt smooth and oiled, almost mechanical in its motion.

"Put your full weight on it. It won't break".

"What is it?" Harry was impressed. It felt like he was wearing a mechanical leg of some sort.

"It's a magical support. It is tied in to your knee joint and most of your leg. You won't be able to stress your leg while it's on, but it will wear off in a day or so. Come back to me when it does. In the meantime, good luck".

As he walked stiffly out of the hospital wing, not quite used to having the full use of his leg back, Harry could have sworn that he'd seen a ghost of a smile flicker over the matron's face. He looked back to check that he'd missed nothing, and it was then that he saw the silver bowl in the middle of the room. He sighed. One way or another there would be a reckoning. In the meantime, there was work to be done and answers to be had. He walked towards the Gryffindor common room.

"Well now, look who's back. Password?"

"Dragon's tooth." Harry clambered through the portrait hole. People looked up and stared. A few gasped.

"Harry's back!" Ten people mobbed him before he could take more than five steps into the room.

"How are you?"

"Is your leg okay?"

"Is Malfoy up yet?"

"Do you remember anything?"

"_ENOUGH!"_ Two voices yelled. Harry's head whipped round in the crush to see Hermione stalking towards the little group with her wand out. Ron had taken up a flanking position by the fireplace and was looking murderous.

"Oi, you lot, give him space! Harry, mate, over here." Ron pointed up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. He glared at the group but attempted a smile anyway. "Harry needs rest. Later – we party. But not now."

"Watch where you're pointing that thing" muttered Dean darkly. "I don't want to end up looking like dear Draco."

With that, the three of them fled upstairs into Harry and Ron's room. Harry plonked himself onto his bed, exhausted from the intense panic that came from being mobbed and the ache in his leg. The support charm was working fine, but he couldn't expect it cushion everything. Ron and Hermione sat on stools, the three forming three points of a triangle. After a moment, realising how confrontational this was, each of them dropped onto the floor.

Harry looked at his two best friends. Hermione was older than he'd ever seen her look. She was looking straight through him with an air of concern, yet it was tempered with softness. He knew that she was thinking of the hospital wing and what had transpired there.

Some subtle change had been wrought in Ron. His hair was no longer lank and parted down the centre. It was feathered and darker. His face had filled out and his jaw and cheekbones were clearly delineated. Quidditch and his ferocious appetite had worked its magic on his long frame. He was no longer lanky; he towered, his face powerful. Maybe it was the trauma of the brains from the summer, but again Harry noted the quiet, menacing look. It was hard to see unless you knew him very well, as Harry and Hermione did, but it was there. Ron had become something to be feared by anyone who would cross Harry's path.

Harry cleared his throat. "Both of you… thanks. For everything." Ron and Hermione nodded, seemingly anxious to hear Harry speak. He paused, lining up his words in his mind. "I've accessed the augmented penseive. Ron, Hermione, all this… comes as a bit of a shock. I know we've all changed, but I didn't think you two would have. At least, not that much." He held Ron's gaze until his friend looked away.

"We've all become scarred. I can see it." Harry said, almost to himself. He thought of Sirius and then locked that thought away. He'd go and see Lupin later, get it all sorted out.

They nodded again, and Ron shifted uncomfortably, as if he knew what Harry was about to ask.

Harry looked him in the eye. "I need to know what happened with the brains."

Ron sighed, shut his eyes, and leaned back against the cupboard. "All right, but I'm only saying this once. Have you two ever – and Harry, I know how this sounds – have you two ever seen anyone being tortured?"

Harry froze. Hermione went white. Ron nodded warily. "Well. There you go. Harry, do you remember anything about the brains?"

Harry's mind went back to Ministry, to Ron fending off the flying hunks of matter spouting tendrils of what had seemed like film.

"They looked like they had things – memories – coming out of them. Like a reel of film."

"And you do you remember the names of the Death Eaters that died doing stuff for You-Know-Wh – damnit, Voldemort?"

Hermione spoke up hesitantly. "Rosier, Wilkes, some others."

Harry felt sick to his stomach. He could see what was coming, knew what Ron was about to say. By the looks of it, so did Hermione. Ron's breathing quickened and he gulped air in an effort for control.

"It was them. It was their brains._ The bastards at the ministry ripped out their brains and left them alive in that tank for study,_" he hissed. Ron's face was screwed up in a snarl_. "They thought they could get information on who was on Voldemort's side if they studied the memories of the people they'd caught. But they didn't use Veritaserum, that would have been no use. After all, only Voldemort knew who they all were. So they had to look directly into their memories, put them into a pensive, a special one. But their memories were still there, of all the people they'd tortured and killed."_ Ron's face had gone purple. His voice was full of rage_. "Plus there was all the stuff that the Ministry did to them before they pulled the plug on them. And guess who got a face full of Death-Eater memories when the tank went to hell? Guess who's seen dozens of murders and rapes and curses? Guess who can remember having his brain pulled out? Me, that's who."_ Ron squeezed his head in both hands, as if he was trying to crush the memories away. "I saw it all, Harry. I can't get rid of them."

He rolled over onto his side and huddled up into a ball, arms crossed over his chest. Harry reached him at the same time as Hermione did. Not knowing what to do, he grasped Ron's shoulder and squeezed, hard, as Hermione took the other shoulder. His sobs wracked his powerful frame. Slowly, his hands crept upwards and took theirs. Harry and Hermione looked at each other, devastation written on their faces. They all linked hands, each of them grasping the other two tight, as their once innocent world came crashing down around their ears in splinters.

Later that night, unable to sleep and wracked with angry questions, Harry grabbed his father's cloak and the Marauderer's Map and stepped out of the portrait hole. He had had enough. He was going to find Lupin. He made his way to the Room of Requirement and halted in front of the blank space on the wall.

_"I need somewhere where I can talk to Lupin. I need to know exactly what happened to Sirius and I need to know about the Brain tank." _he commanded. He glanced down at the map, seeing a new room appear on the map as a door materialised in front of him. He stepped through and found himself in – what? How…? Had he picked the wrong passageway? Was there another room like this in the castle?

It was Dumbledore's office. Everything was there: the gadgets, the desk, the squashy red deep-backed chairs. Even – and Harry had to glance at the map – Fawkes. Yes, Fawkes was definitely there. As were Dumbledore and Lupin.

"Hello, Harry. Have a seat. We're been expecting you." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes came to rest on his, and Harry felt slightly cheated. Remus Lupin smiled wanly at him and answered the obvious question.

"This isn't a trick, Harry. Albus, as Headmaster, has the ability to – how shall I put this? – change the place that that door behind you leads to . I imagine anyone trying to get into the Headmaster's study right now is having a very hard time of it indeed."

Harry sat heavily in the closest chair. He was suddenly tired again.

"You know what I came here to ask."

"Sirius, I presume." Dumbledore glanced at Lupin. "Remus, perhaps you should tell him. You were his friend."

Lupin's expression closed up, and Harry saw a pained look flash across his preternaturally aged face before he spoke.

"Harry, do you know what is behind that curtain in the Department of Mysteries?"

"You're going to tell me that Sirius is dead, and that he can't come back as a ghost. I know that much. I talked to Sir Nick about it last summer." Harry's voice was stony.

"You're right. Avada Kedavra, Harry. The killing curse. It's nothing compared to what's on the other side of that curtain.

"What could be worse than death?" Harry wanted answers. Quickly.

Dumbledore spoke "The very question that has led Tom Riddle down the darkest of paths. Harry, Sir Nicholas, upon the point of his death, had a choice. To become a ghost, a shadow of his former self, and yet more. To die, and to face the mysteries of death. Or to embrace what is behind the curtain."

"Which is?"

"Nothing, Harry. Null space." Lupin gripped the arms of his chair momentarily and then relaxed. It had obviously cost him a lot to say that. "Do you understand what that means?"

"No."

"Neither does anyone else. It's like walking outside the universe. Imagine a place that isn't a place, or the inside of black hole. It's literally nothing. In the purest sense of the word."

"So Sirius… is gone. For ever."

"I miss him too, Harry." Lupin cupped his hands to his nose and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, willing away tears.

Harry was numb. He'd known. Oh, he'd known all right. Ever since the mirror that Sirius had given him hadn't worked. Enough was enough. How much did they know?

"I need to tell you both something."

He told them about what Ron had said regarding the brains. Their reaction was shocking. Lupin looked as though he'd been forced to drink a gallon of Wolfsbane potion in one go. Dumbledore's eyes went to slits and Harry felt his raw anger surge through the room. He hadn't known… the Ministry had acted without the Wizengamot knowing about it, Dumbledore wasn't involved… He felt relieved and sick at the same time. How much more was the Ministry hiding?

"I…see." Dumbledore turned to Lupin. "Remus, I need to take a message to the Order. Phineas Nigellus is nowhere to be found, so I cannot use him. Tell them that there is to be an emergency meeting. Everyone is to attend. As soon as possible." Remus nodded and left. Dumbledore turned to Harry and spoke softly.

"I imagine that you have many more questions, but I am afraid that they will have to wait. What you have told us changes everything."

"Sir?" Dumbledore's face showed concern.

"Harry. Tell no one. We may have more enemies than we thought." With that, Albus swept out of the room.

It was then that the full implications of Ron's story hit Harry. _Fudge knew. Fudge and his predecessor had known the identity of every Death Eater from the moment of capture and had let some of them go. The analysis of their disembodied brains had surely revealed enough information for the Ministry to know for certain who was in with Voldemort and who'd been falsely accused.. Because of them, countless people had died. Because of them, Peter Pettigrew had been able to resurrect Voldemort, instead of facing life in Azkaban. Because of them, the Second War was upon them and now the Order would have to fight on two fronts. There was only one possible explanation._

The Ministry had turned traitor.


	4. Chapter 4: Internal Machinations

**Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom Chapter 4: Internal Machinations**

****

I am male Therefore I cannot be Joanne Rowling Therefore I do not own Harry Potter Happy? 

Thanks for the reviews. For now we shall continue with the dark and nasty bits. The nice(r) bits are coming next chapter.

"…and that's how it is."

"…Christ."

"My God."

They were in Harry's room again, and Harry's watch glowed at the 2 am mark. Ron looked at him, flabbergasted. Hermione was frowning once again, her blasphemy forgotten. Harry had rushed back from Dumbledore's office, his parting words ringing in his ears. "_Tell no one"_. He'd been afraid, something that Harry was sure that he'd never seen before. If _Dumbledore_ was afraid, how badly did that bode for their own states of mind? And surely, _surely_ he'd have known that Harry was going to tell Ron and Hermione the moment he got back? As long as only the three of them knew, then it was ok…wasn't it?

Hermione's frown deepened, the lamplight softly highlighting her hair as she shifted on the floor. Feelings for Harry aside – all right, for the moment at least she found herself still able to disassociate her personal feelings from her thoughts, but she knew that it wouldn't last long. Personal feelings aside, then, this put them all in even more danger. Lies and disinformation, hidden agendas and dark, hidden secrets. One enemy was starting to look very much like another. And yet there was something not quite right about it.

"It's possible that Dumbledore's got it wrong, isn't it?" Harry spoke hesitantly, unwilling to entertain the idea that was forming in his mind. "I mean, consider the facts. Ron, you have information that could – depending on which side certain people in the Ministry are on – ruin everything. And yet they didn't erase it. No-one performed a memory charm on you at any point. Isn't that strange? You'd think that they'd take any steps at all to wipe out any possibility of a leak, wouldn't you? After all they had you in the hospital wing for a while. It would have been perfectly natural for someone from the Ministry to pop in and see how you were getting on. And then…" He left the rest unsaid: Memory charms could be broken by powerful wizards, as Harry knew to his own cost. Had anyone from the wrong side of the Ministry managed to break into Hogwarts, covertly or otherwise, Ron for once would have been the target. They would have made sure that he wouldn't have been able to remember. They would have made very, _very_ sure.

Hermione cut in. "Harry, there are other possibilities. One, Dumbledore's right and we're all in danger. Two, there are certain people within the Ministry acting alone, working for Voldemort. Remember Broderick Bode? Death Eaters killed him rather than risk a leak of _any_ information. They could have come from inside the Ministry. From inside the Department on Mysteries itself. We don't even know who sent Bode Devil's Snare. It could have been another Unspeakable."

Ron and Harry turned fearful eyes upon Hermione. "This had better be getting better, Hermione. You're speculating - ." Ron was visibly unnerved.

"Three. Dumbledore tells Fudge about Trelawney's prophecy. Having captured those Death Eaters, and with Voldemort vanished who-knows-where, the Ministry decides keep tabs on the remaining ones. Their identities are known, remember? It imprisons those who aren't quick or smart enough to avoid getting caught. But those who were _genuinely _under the Imperius curse are let go, and the rest – Malfoy, NcNair, and the rest – are left to go to seed. Remember that at this point they know that Voldemort's only disappeared – not dead. So they hedge their bets and monitor the activities of the remaining Death Eaters. Malfoy's former position on the board of Hogwarts governors plus his frequent visits to coddle Fudge put him within easy reach. McNair's job as an Executioner for the Committee on Dangerous Creatures means that he's under total control. Neither can move. The rest were in Azkaban or dead, or under supervision. That left-"

"Pettigrew. I know. His Animagus form was unknown to anyone except Sirius, who was in Azkaban himself, and Lupin – and who was going to listen to a werewolf with friends known for troublemaking, and with one imprisoned for horrendous murders at that? They couldn't track him." Harry looked up, his face hidden and vengeful in the half-light. "Or wouldn't." His hair fell in front in his eyes as he went on. "You're forgetting something. Dumbledore was afraid. I've never, ever seen him like that, even last year when he was facing Fudge and his cronies in his office. He hasn't told them, Hermione. We know nothing about the Department of Mysteries. We don't even know how many could be on Voldemort's side. It could be all of them. It could only be a few."

Ron had calmed down, but all of this was bringing back…_oh, no. Not here._.. He felt the images in his mind rise from somewhere deep inside.

Blood, black and thick, spattered and scribbled on a brick wall. A mess beneath.

Blazes of light arcing through the night towards unseen targets like the tracer bullets he'd seen in a muggle movie once.

Flares lighting up a group of black-cloaked figures swarming round two identical men duelling furiously back-to-back, sending actinic hexes screaming into the tightening circle to no effect. The sheer number of incoming spells finally cut them down without mercy.

An ancient and enormous black motorcycle barrelling straight towards him through a red dawn, the rider's long raven hair and coat streaming out behind him, spells streaming from his wand towards someone to his left faster then he'd ever seen. Asphalt was left cratered, smoking and bubbling as the rider re-holstered his wand and shifted his weight, flaring the back wheel into a slide. He couldn't move. The bike shuddered and roared, unstoppable. He felt his legs snatched from under him in a blaze of pain and he was thrown to the ground, bouncing along the road as he heard the engine cut out and the bike come to rest on the cold, hard asphalt. Behind the pain of his shattered legs he heard the stand being kicked into place.

Footsteps crunched on gravel. He couldn't see, his forehead was a wall of fire from where it had hit the road. The footsteps paused, and he heard two almost simultaneous clicks. They echoed in the still dawn air. Some kind of weapon? Painfully he tried to remember where his wand had landed. There was silence, punctured by blubbering, the sound of someone begging. The silence spiralled away horribly.

An explosion rent the morning, flat and sharp. A settling of air. The footsteps crunched again and came to a halt in front of him. He raised his head, conscious of his shattered legs. He couldn't run. Damnit, nothing left. No wand, no way to move. Only one thing to do, then.

He opened his eyes and looked into the handsome and stone-cold face of Sirius Black.

Another memory. The auditorium in the Veil Chamber. Wizards and witches dressed in black robes sitting on stone benches. No Dumbledore. No dad. Four wizards flanking the front half of the dais. He was in the ranks along with the rest of the…court?

The air was cold and dry, wrung out and frozen in place. The atmosphere in the chamber was unbelievably tense; he could feel it creeping against his skin, a breath waiting to be exhaled. The veil looked as it had always had; still, grey, tattered. He knew what was behind it and it chilled him to the bone with fear. What was happening?

There was movement at the back. A middle-aged man, shackled, his face pale and sunken, was being led to the front by two more black-robed figures. His own robes were clearly Azkaban material, and he looked thin to the point of being emaciated. His hair was grey. There was defeat in his face, and anger and contempt too. He had the look of a man who knows that he is beaten but keeps on fighting out of sheer principle. By the looks of things it hadn't done him much good. Maybe, once, there would have stood a man to be feared. But in his place stood a man with a scowl and hunched shoulders. A wasted man.

The oaken doors thumped shut. The procession advanced up the aisle, footsteps echoing off the granite slabs, shackles grating with the harsh whisper of steel upon stone. They reached the dais. One step, two. _Oh no. Nonono._ They stopped, and the guards peeled away. The original four took positions akin the four points of a square. The man was in the middle, his back to the veil. There was silence, then a voice. It came from the front, from a figure in front of a granite lectern. Not one he recognised. Cold. Detached. Professional.

"Zachary Tobias Saint. You have been charged with and found guilty of the murders of Fabian Prewett, Michael Vaunt-Staffton, James Vance, Zoë Heidegger, Rufus McAbbot and sundry others. You are guilty of using an Unforgivable curse on sixty-three occasions. You are guilty of crime beyond imprisonment and your sentence is to be carried out forthwith. Do you have anything that you wish to say?"

The man looked up at the room, his expression neutral. His eyes came to rest on Ron's. _Patience, Saint. We will find a way to bring you back. You were his most faithful. We shall not forget you. Stay silent and all will be well._ The thought rose unbidden in his mind. From Saint, a small, bitter smile to the court at large. "I am ready. I will not be forgotten." The voice was deep and hoarse, despite the man's average size.

"Very well."

Another black – robed man stepped out from the ranks below him. Standing in front of the lectern, he withdrew his wand and took aim. The whole room held its breath. Ron's heart was hammering against his ribcage. Surely not?

"_STUPIFY!"_

The jet of light hit Saint straight in the chest. His body seemed to rise slightly as he was blasted backwards off his feet. On his face, a look of surprise mingled with sheer terror. It was over in the blink of an eye. There was a swishing noise as he passed through the veil, a fluttering as it settled back into place. Ron felt a wrench deep inside that had nothing to do with his own feelings. _No! _

_We will have you for this, you meddling fool. We will make you beg for his punishment. And you, you turncoat. Do not think that we have forgotten your treachery either._

A moment. Then it sunk in. _Shit. _The room exhaled quietly, as if something poisonous had been expunged from it. In the cold silence, the black-robed figures filed out a few at a time, all unspeaking. Two remained, the orator and the executioner. As he passed by, he glanced at them under their hoods. The orator, already turning old, with greying hair, was unknown to him. He glanced at the second man and his brain froze. _Bode._

The sallow face that Ron had seen once in St. Mungo's was definitely there, although here he looked a decade or so younger. Their eyes met. In that instant, Ron saw a look of hate and fear cross Bode's face. _He knows, _thought Ron. _He knew about the infiltration. Maybe it's still going on… But he died…_A horrible thought struck him. _I bet my host sent him the Devil's snare. But the Ministry pulled the plug on him too, otherwise I wouldn't be here. Hell, nothing makes sense. Maybe Hermione's right and the Ministry did let some of them go. But who? And why? How bloody deep does this go?_

_Ah, Broderick. Your time will come one day. You will pay for your treachery to the Master. Who knows, you might even have a chance to serve him once more before the end. We do not forget, Bode. And neither do we forgive. _

_Dear God. I have to tell them. _

__


	5. Chapter 5: Friends in Need

**Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom Chapter 5:**

**Friends in Need of Friends**

HP belong to me does not. Foolish you are if this you believe. Hmm.

Sorry for the non-updating of this chapter. I'm at university now and the network here blocks uploads to the web. Evil SysAdmin! I've had all kinds of hell from Uni and also a serious case of Writer's block. I've never written a scene of this kind before and it was particularly difficult for all sorts of reasons. Oh, that's right...Warning! Erotica ahead!

Please be nice and leave some reviews! – By the way, slippers, dressing gowns and pyjamas are the order of the day here. It is late, after all. And YES, our hero has started shaving. Well, once a week, anyway.

"_Spells"_

_Thoughts_

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Harry and Hermione looked on in shock as Ron's head snapped back and hit the closet. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he started twitching as though a current was running through him.

Hermione was first to act. She pulled him upright and started shaking him. "Ron! RON!" There was no response; Ron carried on twitching. She stared at her friend, panicked.

"God, Harry, what do we do?"

They glanced at each other.

"Pomfrey", they said simultaneously, and, each of them supporting the still-jerking Ron by an armpit, dragged him down the stairs and out of the now-deserted common room into the stone corridor. He was a dead weight.

"Wait! Hermione, this is daft! _Mobillicorpus!_" Ron half-walked, half-floated along guided by a panicking Harry. Hermione dashed ahead to the hospital wing, leaving disgruntled portraits in her wake. Gasping for breath as she entered, she nearly tripped over a house-elf who from the looks of things had been making beds.

"Miss Hermione?" She looked down. Patent leather shoes, odd socks, plus-fours, a muggle football shirt and a tea cosy. There was only one elf at Hogwarts who dressed like that. She fought to control her breath in the silvery half-light.

"Dobby! Get Madame Pomfrey! Ron's had some sort of seizure and it's urgent!" The words came out in a rush. As Dobby vanished in a green blur Harry came staggering over the threshold, a comatose Ron on his shoulder. His desperate eyes sought hers as he dragged him over.

"I messed up the spell, it wore off half-way up the stairs. Help me get him onto a bed, quick." He seemed shattered and at the end of some sort of emotional tether.

Together they heaved Ron onto the nearest bed. At that instant the gas lamps flared into life and Madam Pomfrey came striding through the door, Minerva McGonagall in her wake. Both of them were fully dressed and looked extremely worried. Ignoring Harry and Hermione, the matron leant over Ron, checking pupils and pulse. The fussing went on for a while, during which time McGonagall quietly took them over to one corner. Harry felt his stomach tighten.

"He just passed out?"

Harry felt that something was called for. Unwilling to reveal that he'd ignored Dumbledore's orders, he simply reiterated Ron's collapse. The teacher's eyes narrowed slightly and she simply nodded, the stern yet kindly look on her face unchanged. She cast a glance towards the bed, catching a nod and reassuring look from the matron in the process.

"Very well. Under the circumstances I think it best that you return to your dormitories." She raised an eyebrow to their unvoiced protests. "I have no doubt that Mr Weasley will be up and about soon. Good night, both of you." And with that she swept out of the room. Harry and Hermione walked over to Madam Pomfrey only to be gently shooed out with a "let him sleep" and a chocolate frog each.

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All was silent in the moonlit halls as the two weary and confused teenagers made their way back. Each mind was full of worries, and each mind felt the need for the company of the other. As they stepped through the portrait hole Harry realised that wherever this was going, this war, this...mess, right now his friends mattered more to him than ever, even if the barriers that he'd carefully, unconsciously built came crashing down around him. He was, he admitted to himself, tired and devastated. He thought he'd been ready to cope with things like this. _Secrets and lies, double crosses, and loss. So much loss, so many lives wasted or wrenched from their intended courses... Love, too._ He hadn't nearly been ready, he knew that now.

Blasted Cho, doing that to him. _Bitch. BITCH! How had she dared?_ Didn't he have enough to cope with already? _And now Hermione... oh, to hell with it._ Who cared? He deserved her. He knew that his brain wasn't working correctly, but somehow it no longer mattered. He slumped onto the sofa in front of the fire, the soft material absorbing his weight. Weight... like the warm, comforting weight of Hermione's head against his chest. He suddenly realised that he missed it. He wanted it. Everything had gone to hell in these past few months and she'd been the one constant. _Well, there was Ron. All right, but that's not the same._

He stayed there, watching Hermione clear up a few of her books from the tables, willing her to come over.

She moved about the room, quietly collecting her things. God know what had happened to Ron. She was tired and drained and needed comfort. She'd seen Harry nearly lose his cool as he dragged their friend across the threshold of the hospital wing. The last few hours had proved almost too much for both of them, she knew. _Ron can wait._ _I wonder how he felt... _

She paused in her motions and looked around, drawn by a sense of tension in the air. She knew she was being watched. She tensed, books poised in her arms, red dressing-gown rumpled as she registered the sight in front of her. Shadows and half-light criss-crossed the room, masking every edge and corner.

Harry was curled up in the corner of a sofa watching her. His hair flopped in front of his eyes, and they burned amber and green in the firelight. He looked feral, wild. Something inside her jumped at the sight and she couldn't look away.

He blinked, his eyes simultaneously full of pain and desire. She dropped the books and they slid to the ground un-noticed. She moved closer, taking a few small steps at a time, never for a moment breaking eye-contact. She could feel every hair of the scarlet rug under her now-bare feet. Time slowed, and her thoughts ran like treacle.

_He doesn't care any more, does he? About his walls, about Sirius... . He wants to forget._

_What on earth was I thinking, not telling him? He said that I wouldn't have to hide any more... wait,_

_he was the one who was hiding. For all that time..._

_I'd want to forget too._

_I know I love him. So what am I waiting for?_

_This is going to make everything complicated._

_I don't care any more. _

She stepped lightly over rug, the thin, wispy tendrils slightly tickling her feet as she closed the distance between her and the sofa. She felt as though her head was full of air, and she wasn't entirely sure of what she wanted. Maybe it was better to give in to her baser urges and just kiss him senseless. Maybe she'd better just...

Too late, she realised that she'd taken the last few steps and had ended up in the opposite corner to Harry. He turned and looked at her, his eyes wide behind his glasses. His suddenly strange mood had snapped as he'd watched her walk towards him like a weightless, drifting snake, leaving him taut and shaking inside.

Blinking, he reached up with one hand and unhooked his glasses from behind his ears. He deposited them carefully on a small table beside the sofa. It was a defence mechanism. He knew that were he to look her in the face with perfect vision right now he'd clam up and be unable to utter a single word.

As his world blurred he concentrated on the slightly fuzzy outlines of her face, feeling a little more relaxed. It was better like this, to look without really seeing. He could talk to her and not feel scrutinised.

She shifted, unsure of what had just happened. Some subtle rule seemed to have been changed. Harry without glasses was...strange. It had been deliberate. Was he really that scared to look her in the face after what had transpired in the hospital wing? They'd ended up acknowledging their feelings for each other, certainly, but...

_Damn_. To blazes with all the dancing around. It was time to test the waters. Gently, though.

He shifted as she had, and found himself touching her at the ankle.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" he asked.

She smiled at him, a slightly tired smile that was tinged with something that was suddenly making him feel very...uncomfortable indeed.

"He'll be fine."

There was something about the way she said it. He felt his brain kick him, hard. Something was sorely amiss here.

"What about you, Harry?"

_Uh oh._

"Tired." Not knowing where it would lead, he slid a little lower into the sofa. Unseen, her eyes flared.

"Harry...?" Her voice was laced with honey... It was doing strange things to his stomach...

"Mmm?"

"Never mind Ron."

She slid over to him and took him by the shoulders, turning his back towards her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Wha – what are you...?"

"Shhhh, Harry. Relax. You need this."

With that, she slowly squeezed his collarbones, feeling the contours of the muscles underneath his nightgown. She silently gave thanks to whichever god it was that looked down upon Quidditch players. His muscles stood out from his thin form. They were incredibly taut, a testament to the great strain, both physical and mental, that Harry had been under since the start of term. He was so very tense...

Sighing inwardly, she lifted his gown from his back, sliding the thick scarlet silk over his shoulders and letting it drape between them, the material shimmering in the watery moonlight. His T-shirt was loose around his chest, but getting it off would be a problem... Not letting her movements disturb her rhythm, she moved her hand to her wand that she'd slipped into a loop of her gown and quietly whispered "_Diffindo_".

The cotton coiled away from his shoulders like living smoke. He gasped as air hit his stomach and chest, tensed his muscles as he felt his last layer of protection float from him.

_What... the...hell?_

"Hermione! What the hell...?!"

"Shhh... trust me, Harry. Just trust me" Her voice was soft and warm, and it soothed away his tension. After all, this was his friend... maybe more than that now, but still his friend.

She paused before the plunge.

_At least I saw it coming. _

_We'll forget together._

He yelped a kind of half-hearted exclamation as her hands shifted to his chest. She started stroking him, her movements slow and languorous. He was smooth and hairless, the hardness of his muscles offset by his warmth of his soft skin. As he sighed in resignation and pleasure, she felt a rising sense of contentment steal into her muscles.

_Wow... what have I been missing? He's...perfect._

_He's my friend_

_He's more than that now_

She curled her hands towards Harry's chest, scratching him lightly, leaving red tracery on his smooth skin. He shuddered, gasping at the faint pain, at the prickling feeling that followed in the wake of the scarlet marks. He arched his back in pleasure, feeling his muscles tense underneath him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as she crossed her arms across his chest and pressed herself into him, her core molten against the small of his back and her head draped on his shoulder.

"Feels... good."

"Mmhmm?"

"Yeah."

"How good?" She purred.

"Like..."

"Magic."

"What did you do to me?"

"What needed to be done."

"...I don't know what to say to that."

"Then say nothing. Forget." She smiled as she said it, as he turned within her grasp and held her close.

_I've got him. _

"Focus on me, Harry."

She slipped her arms out of her gown and let the fluid material pool beneath her. Her thin top was stretched, barely hiding the treasure beneath. Harry gasped softly as she reached for her wand again, her eyes locked on his, smiling.

He gaze turned inquisitive as she felt a hand impede her progress. Harry picked up her wand from where it had fallen on the sofa and smiled at her.

"My turn."

He touched the tip of it to the bottom of the flimsy fabric and whispered "_Separo"_, drawing it up past her stomach, between her breasts and up to her collar in a slow, smooth movement.

She tilted her head back as she felt the warm air from the smouldering fire wash over her skin, her top cut cleanly in half where the wand had passed, still clinging to her chest. She could tell what was coming next.

_I want this..._

Harry lowered his head to her waist, his hair tickling the exposed line of her stomach. He nuzzled up the line of the rendered material, displacing it to either side as he did so. She felt his tongue against the skin of her abdomen and moaned gutturally in pleasure as he swept slow swathes up and across her torso. He came to the rise of her breasts, noting the cherry flush upon her pale skin.

_Don't stop now, Harry._

Ever so gently, he took the loose material between his teeth and slid it over her to, the tip of his nose brushing her hardened nipple as her breath hitched in her throat. The slight stubble on his cheeks tickled her as he brought his head back across to do the same thing to her other side, and her hands curled around his shoulder blades in pleasure.

She silently sucked in a breath and gave thanks for a second time that night as he latched his mouth onto her nipple, alternately licking and softly biting the sensitive nub of flesh, tracing slow circles around it with his tongue.

_He's so gentle... Oh, my... _

"Don't stop, Harry. Don't stop," she begged. She felt her own glow, her own heat rise from her as

he lifted his head and shifted slightly in her embrace, moving his attention to her other breast as his hands came up and around her sides to where his mouth had previously been.

And suddenly, she couldn't take it any more. Tensing herself, she slid her body underneath his and he suddenly found himself looking down upon her face to face, her soft chestnut curls spread out below him, a feral smile upon her face and a look in her eye that said _mine._

The kiss was electric, a slow and sensuous meeting of lips as each tried to meld with the other completely. Their tongues danced slowly, briefly as breath mingled with breath and sent them both hurtling on the crest of a wave into a place without thought. Mouth captured mouth as they settled into a rhythm, two breathing as one, each filling the lungs of the other with hot, life-giving breath from their very cores.

Hermione held on to the feeling of weightlessness as her world shrunk to pure sensation, aware only of Harry's weight and warmth upon her, of the liquid feeling of searing skin on skin.

_I knew it._

_He's amazing._

_Don't let this stop._

After all, it was so easy to forget where the boundaries lay...

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The fire burned lower, matching the dwindling passion of the two friends. All was heavy and quiet once more as the logs shifted in the grate, sending up a shower of dull sparks. Hermione shifted and groaned, her torso glistening in the firelight as she twisted in Harry's arms and stared into his eyes.

"Harry?"

"Mmm?" he growled, a tired and happy smile flitting across his face. It was a long time since she'd seen that.

"I think I love you."

"I... love you too." There was wonder in his voice as she kissed him softly. And after that, there was, for a while, silence.


	6. Chapter 6: Lest Old Enemies Be Forgotten

**Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom:**

**Chapter 6: Lest Old Enemies be Forgotten…**

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My most sincere apologies – it's been months since I updated and a lot has happened since then. Suffice to say that university is a hard taskmistress. Anyway, here we go, I'm sure you've been waiting for this bit.

Moisten around the edges, cut a flap and insert disclaimer here. Redeemable value: 0.01p. Not for exchange or sale.

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Ron Weasley was having a nightmare. He was sure of it. He was in the hospital wing alone with the memories of his visions – not to mention Malfoy, who was hopefully still imitating soup - and he hadn't been able to tell either of his friends, let alone Dumbledore. He felt like he'd been hit repeatedly by a particularly sadistic bludger and he couldn't move an inch. On top of that, he was scared stiff and sweating. What the hell was going on in the ministry? He couldn't keep track. He was drowning in secrets and triple-crosses, people were in danger, the ministry had been – was – Damnit – being infiltrated – assuming You-know-who's spies were still there – and on top of all that they'd been using blood tactics and executions. Bloody perfect.

_How the hell did I end up here in the first place? One minute flashbacks, the next I'm in Harry's home away from home. _

_And what happened? Ok… Bode was a Death Eater, right? My host recognised him, said something about serving You-Know-Who again... that must have been the night that Lucius Malfoy Imperio'd him into the Department of Mysteries. Bode was a spy for You – Know – Who but turned… That scene with… Saint? Yes, Saint, must have been a trust thing. If he really hated the Dark Arts he'd have had no problem taking a Death Eater down… I didn't recognise anyone in there apart from him. Damn. But then Harry says that they let Death Eaters go, the first time around… Sounds like something that nutter Fudge would do. _

_Saint's execution must have been from the first war… Which means that Bode was responsible for… what? No one knew who ALL the Death Eaters were apart from the Braintank people and You-Know-Who. What was Bode doing? Identifying them? No, that doesn't make sense. He knew my host. Why wouldn't he rat on that one then? Wait, maybe he did. I was inside his memories, which mean that he got de-brained. Looks like Bode ended up squarely on the ministry's side and got to that bloke before he could do anything._

_They let them go… what does that mean? Harry says Dumbledore looked scared… I'm sure he would've been told if they were being kept under wraps. Someone from You-Know-Who's lot must have cut a deal after He fell… for all of them. Maybe they didn't even need to cut a deal. Who was involved with the Brain tank anyway? They must have covered this up… They knew, Damnit. And they still let them go lose, or freed them or whatever. They must have been in really deep – so deep that Bode couldn't have known about them…_

_Shit… What if they never came out?_

There was the sound of crisp, professional footsteps upon stone, then a burst of sunlight hit him full in the face as a fresh-faced, starchy-white Madam Pomfrey threw open the curtains. The pendulum clock on the wall next to the duty station indicated that it was half past seven. He groaned in protest at the time.

"Good morning, Mr Weasley." She brandished a glass of thick brown liquid at him. "Drink!"

He swallowed reluctantly. It was warm. It stank. It tasted like rotten bile. He heaved, only just managing to keep the vile concoction down.

"Mr Weasley! I doubt that my potions are that awful! Anyway, _you_ are staying here for the rest of the day. You've had a seizure."

_No… a vision. Which led to it. I… damn!_

He struggled with his sheets, throwing them off haphazardly.

_"Mr Weasley! Where on earth do you think you're going?!"_

"I need to go and see Professor Dumbledore. Right now. I had a dream… a vision. Everyone's in danger, you don't understand…" he panted, struggling with his robes.

The stunning spell came from out of nowhere and hit the matron square in the back. Ron's brain froze as she crumpled to the floor, barely registering the shape towering above her. It looked like a dementor in human form, but there was no despair, no sigh of wind... It was black…mostly black apart from the scarlet, hell-crazed eyes and the thin silver gashes running down its body. It was holding a wand… _Pomfrey's_.... except…

No dementor would _ever _carry a wand….

No dementor would have white-blond hair.

"Malfoy…" he croaked. The word stuck in his throat as his blood turned to ice in his veins.

"How very perceptive of you, Weasssssley" the…thing hissed, twirling the wand dextrously between its malformed fingers as Ron scrabbled for his own, knowing full well that he wouldn't reach it in time. His eyes widened in shock as he saw the wand-tip swing directly into his face. "I'm going to have ssssome fun with you, you pure-blood traitor."

Ron turned away in terror as Malfoy hissed an incantation, waiting for the spell to hit and for the pain to begin.

It never came. With a shimmering sound walls of golden light materialised around each bed, blocking the bolt of magic and causing it to rebound into a shelf of glassware, which promptly shattered with considerable violence. The Malfoy-thing blinked in surprise and threw another spell at the translucent golden wall between them, with much the same effect as the first.

_Wards? Oh thank God, he can't get me. But I can't get him…damn it! _Malfoy punched the wall violently, trying to get through. The wall sizzled and sparkled but he couldn't force an opening. Hissing, he fixed Ron with a glare, the hate smouldering scarlet in his crazed eyes.

"You'll get yourssss, traitor." They were face to face, red hair matching scarlet eyes that looked as if they were trying to burn through the liquid barriers, hypnotic in their madness.

His head snapped up and he sniffed the air once. A grim smile swept over his face he scented a better, less protected kind of prey.

"But they'll get theirssss first" He turned away, black cloak sweeping cream floor with a hiss of fabric upon stone.

_Harry! Hermione!_

Ron, now mortally afraid for his friends, wound up his reserves and cast an alarm spell inside his glowing bay. The vials along the opposite wall exploded in a storm of razor-sharp shards as glassware started resonating to the frequency of the magical cacophony. The maelstrom of exploding crystal washed across the floor, scoring thin bloody streaks as it flew past the prone figure of the matron. In his prison of light, Ron watched in horror as they hit the black and silver demon full in the face to absolutely no effect. In another instant he was gone, the threat of bloody, violent horror still tangible on the early-morning air.

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Harry slowly drifted into consciousness, the memories of the previous night a haze. He remembered bushy hair, warm lips and…skin; infinitely soft, curvy skin glowing in the heat of the dying fire, hot to the touch as she cradled his head upon her chest, losing him in her radiance and welcoming his gently questing hands.

He shifted as her hair tickled his nose, trying not to squirm as she subconsciously shifted in his grasp. He struggled for a moment to free his left arm, which was currently wrapped around Hermione's gown-clad shoulders.

That was strange. He couldn't budge it an inch. What on earth…? His mind suddenly flitted to thoughts of a handcuffing spell that Moody had mentioned in passing the year before. _Surely_ she hadn't…? Slightly panicking now, he lifted his head past the nape of her neck and caught sight of his hand.

Hermione was holding it against her chest with both of hers as though she intended never to let go.

Harry's heart surged as he took in the sight. This was… this wasn't possible. Him? Like this? Being held on to as if he meant something? The memories of the night before came flooding back like water through a burst dam. Hermione taking charge like that… wow. He grinned to himself as an evil little thought reared its head. _Well, you knew she was bossy. Be honest, what did you expect?_

_Not this… not in my lifetime. I never thought anything like this would happen to me. _

I never thought I'd be seduced by my best friend.

_But we didn't… you know… did we?_

_No. But I've never felt so loved._

He let his shoulders fall back on to the armrest of the sofa, propping himself up at an awkward angle. His left hand shifted higher, cradling her head now. Brushing away a few stray strands of hair, he caught sight of the faint smile upon her face and knew she was awake.

"What time is it, Harry?" she whispered.

"A quarter to eight." he yawned back. "We've only been asleep for a few hours."

"It's Wednesday. We have double Defence at two."

"Trust you to –huuah- already have the timetable memorised. You really are amazing". He snuggled closer into her back.

She couldn't resist the gentle tease. "For your information, _Mister_ Potter, so are you."

He was genuinely surprised.

"Are you… I mean, did you… was it…ok? Last nig…"

She frowned, wishing with all her heart that he'd one day learn to let go of the anxiety that plagued him. _Dumbledore told me a long time ago that he might turn out like this. At the time I vowed to help him as a friend. Now I've started helping him as a woman and he's not sure if he deserves it._

She was suddenly very conscious of the fact that she'd broken several important barriers. Ones that Harry might have thought that he'd never cross.

"I wanted it, you needed it. I love you, Harry. I wanted to help." She awkwardly turned in his arms to face him. He looked fragile.

"I never thought…"

"I know. I think maybe that's why I did it. You know… what happened back then."

"Back then… yeah."

"Are you happy, Harry? That things are turning out this way?" _Please let him be all right. _

He looked her in the eyes. "You're my friend. You're my… girlfriend. I couldn't ask for anything else."

"So what's wrong?"

"It's all so new to me. I had no idea what I was doing last night. Umm... was I…"

She grinned suddenly. "I would never have guessed. You're gentle, Harry. You have good hands." Smiling, she lifted his hand and kissed it. "You have _nothing_ to worry about there. Now, let's get up before we get noticed. Breakfast starts soon. And I'm sure that you don't want my roommates seeing you like _this_" She poked his breastbone playfully as she rolled on to the floor. He followed her in a clumsy heap.

"_Up!_ Before I start tickling you again!"

"Fine. But five minutes, all right?"

And with that, they made their way towards their staircases, not hearing the faint scream in the corridor outside.

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Yes, it's a cliffhanger. Please review. Suggestions would be nice!


	7. Chapter 7: Malfoy Rising

**Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom Chapter 7:**

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**Malfoy Rising…and Falling**

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_Ah, Christmas. There's nothing like blood, darkness and mayhem to counter the chintz and the tackiness. Enjoy, my little friends, enjoy. Ahem Reviews, please? I've also noticed that if you mangle American English and French into the translation, "Dumbledore" comes out as "Stupid golden one". Heehehe._

_I do admit that Hogwarts is fairly deserted at the moment, but people are just about to get up for breakfast. I'm sure you all know how much teenagers love mornings. Also, Malfoy's messed up form is the result of a not-quite-fully-reconstituted magical body._

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_I am going to die._

_I, Colin Creevy, am going to die._

He couldn't think of anything else. He was beyond petrified. He was, in fact, in that very rare state of mind where one would rather die right now, instantly, painlessly, instead of being subjected to whatever horrendous tortures were about to be visited upon one before the final burst of pain and blackness. And he was certain that both those things were rapidly coming his way.

The certainty stemmed from that fact that he was currently crumpled in a heap at the base of a suit of armour with a three-foot long ceremonial sword buried to the hilt in his upper thigh. With the kind of clarity that only comes from being in the calmly schizophrenic lands that lie on the other side of terror, he casually noted that it stuck quite a long way out of the back of his leg. How interesting.

"The passsword." The…thing above him was horrific, an imperious nightmare in ebony and silver. Clearly he wasn't going to get out of here alive.

"Tell me, and I might make it quick" the thing breathed, unsheathing a wand from the recesses of its robe. He decided to stall for time, for whatever that was worth.

"You'll never get through", he panted roughly "She'll know you're not one of he_uuaaaiiee!_" The thing had rested its boot against the pommel of the sword, moving it ever so slightly. The pain was beyond belief.

"The resssst will take care of itself."

His mind searched for the worst words that he knew. "God…fuck you, you bastard. You won't get in."

The thing dropped onto a knee and grinned into the small boy's eyes. They were wet with fear and red from the pain. "Ssssuch words, fourth-year. You will wissssh you had not said them." He reached for the ornate, gilded guard, gripped it, and _twisted._

Far away in his golden, glowing cell, Ron heard the scream dissonate with the alarm spell as Dumbledore and Lupin came pounding through the doors, wands out, eyes scanning all four corners for foes. Lupin aimed at the prone matron and levitated her onto one of her own beds while Dumbledore, with a quick, horizontal movement of his wand, silenced the alarm and lowered the glowing barriers. Ron leapt to his feet, his mind leaping into overdrive.

"Professor! Malfoy's gone, he's got a wand and I think he's going after Harry."

The silver-bearded man gave a nod and then, indicating the damage, asked "And this, Mister Weasley?"

"Nothing, sir. It didn't even mark him."

The headmaster furrowed his brow in thought. He could not risk open war in the corridors. Malfoy had to be stopped, certainly, but there was no knowing what he would do in his current state. Time, therefore, was of the essence.

"Remus, please stay here and put things back to normal. I will be back shortly."

With that, Dumbledore turned and paced away, hoping that he would not have to hurt one of his own students in the name of preservation of the rest. He had known of Lucius Malfoy's involvement with the other side for a very long time, yet up until now he had hoped that his son would have remained relatively untainted, even in spite of his acid personality. Evidently that was not the case. His path was taking him straight back to Gryffindor tower at a fast march, straight into the unknown. He could only hope that he would not have to deal with any kind of hostage situation, but knowing Lucius's fondness for human misery – as the fiasco at the World Cup two years ago had shown – he could not help but begin to worry. Still, there were certain precautions that one could take.

Pausing for a moment, he stepped towards a portrait of a group of men in light robes sitting around a table deep in conversation. They paused in their discussion as he approached. The small brass plaque below bore the inscription "The Oratory Group, 1615-1747. Elemental Philosophers."

"Gentlemen? If I may have your attention, please?"

One of them looked up and spoke softy. "Certainly, headmaster."

"I require a favour. I am headed for Gryffindor tower in pursuit of a student who I believe to be…unbalanced. Could I possibly prevail upon you to see what is happening along the corridor?"

As one, the group nodded and rose, leaving the scroll-littered table empty. Dumbledore stood patiently in thought until they returned at a run, robes askew.

The leader looked gravely concerned.

"There is a demon ahead. He has a student at his mercy and is demanding the password to the tower upon pain of death. The student is badly wounded in the leg and the demon is armed with a wand. There is not much time left."

For the second time in as many years, Albus Dumbledore broke into a run, navy robes flying. _I am getting far too complacent for this kind of business_, he thought.

"WAIT! I… I'll tell you! Just… no more, please… for the love of Merlin, please!"

There was something sticky running down the back of his leg. He could feel the steel in his thigh, warmed by his blood to body temperature. He had nothing left…

_I'm sorry, Harry. I'm not strong like you._

"The password … to the Fat Lady is…" The Malfoy-thing leant forward in anticipation, the silver lines along his skin cracking open with the movement. There was naught but silver, no suggestion of blood at all. His tattered robes barely covered his body, showing black skin against the tattered shreds. He reached for his stolen wand, planning on ending this worthless, Potter-worshipping idiot's life as soon as he had the information he so desperately needed.

Colin felt something well up inside him. Fear, pain and anger along with no small measure of self-disgust battled for his attention. Maybe, his desperate mind whispered, there was a way to hold off the mad thing. _And then what? Curse him? What with? _

It was at that point that Colin realised that his wand was still in his pocket. He hadn't even had time to draw it, as Malfoy had attacked from around the corner and had summoned the sword from the suit of armour just as he'd turned around. Malfoy must have thought him wandless. Shuddering at the thought of even attacking an older student, he cast his mind back to the DA meetings the previous year.

_All I need is one good Stupefy and he'll have his back turned. _

"…Dragon's Blood", he whispered. Malfoy smiled an insane smile as he heard the last little bit of protection between him and his targets disappear. They were trapped like rats in a sack.

"Good. Now, sssstay here… _petrificus totalus…_ if you've lied to me, you'll die." He turned to his work as Colin, unable to move, tried to stem the rising tide of terror within himself. He _had _lied. Surely it was all over now…

Malfoy rounded the corner and drew his wand at the same moment that the Fat Lady started screaming at the sight of him. _"Obliviate!"_ Her eyes slid into a look of dreamy unconcern, then blinked in surprise as he – and the state that he was in – registered once more.

"You _do_ look a mess, dear. Password?" she asked.

This was it… "Dragon's Blood", he whispered, his own blood pounding in his ears. Finally, he was going to be able to get them all back. In his excitement he failed to notice the frown on the Fat Lady's face.

"Try again, dear."

Shock. Utter shock.

"Dragon's Blood," he ground out, refusing to believe it.

She spoke in a haughty tone, drawing herself up to her full stature "I may not be able to remember exactly who you are, but you, young man, are not getting in!"

"There are other waysssss… _Obliviate!_" He'd make her forget the password and give her one of his own making.

Again the look of unconcern, again the refusal. "Only members of staff may set passwords. Please _leave_…whoever you are."

"In that casssse… _Imperio!"_ It was time to _force_ the issue. So intent was he upon gaining access to the lair of his enemies that he was in no way prepared for what happened next.

The portrait vanished into the creamy stone with a bang. There was nothing left, no sign that it had ever hung there apart from a slightly lighter patch of stonework on the wall. Maddened now, he aimed a Reductor Curse at it, achieving nothing more that a slight indentation in the plane of the stone - despite the power that he had put into it. Nothing seemed to work. Incandescent with rage, he stalked back round to where he had left Creevy, trying to think of ways more painful to die than the _Avada_ – and froze.

At the other end of the corridor, wand out and already arcing through the air, was Dumbledore himself. His aura filled the small space, the precursor of tightly-controlled and highly-focused magical energy making him appear even taller and more imposing than he already was. Clearly, something nasty was going to be very shortly coming his way.

Malfoy knew that he had scant moments to react. Going after Creevy would be suicide, as he was now at Dumbledore's feet, and his brain was not so addled as to consider duelling with the headmaster. There were very few alternatives left, and he took the easiest one.

With an alacrity bordering on the extreme, he executed a tactical retreat.

----------------------------------------------------------

Albus Dumbledore survey the smashed and shard-littered hospital wing as Madam Pomfrey went about healing Creevy senior. Finding Malfoy could take a while were it not for certain devices held by the Headmaster's office, and he fully intended to peruse them as soon as he had seen to other matters.

Having heard Weasley's account of his vision, and now even more worried than ever, the headmaster gathered as many details as he could. Was there a secret group within the British Ministry, and, even worse, was there already a spy within it? One who had been there for the duration of the peaceful interregnum brought about by Voldemort's first fall, and who was therefore far more dangerous and secretive than a fresh agent could ever hope to be? Things were moving faster – and in a vastly different direction – than and to which he had anticipated.

Head on the verge of spinning, he retired to his office determined to find answers to at least one question in the puzzle. With a steaming mug of tea in hand and a lemon drop in his mouth, he turned his attention and his wand to his massive desk. It was a gargantuan piece of furniture, with drawers located in the most unlikely of places (including one that somehow opened into the floor), several inkwells, one of which was bottomless (Aberforth's little joke, surely), and one slit-like compartment next to his right knee that rendered documents unreadable. He had used it only once, having been horribly unnerved by the sounds of carnage from within as the parchment had been reduced to very fine powder. He was prepared to swear that at one point he had seen _teeth._ Lots of little, pointy teeth.

It had been a gift from his brother, and whilst some considered him eccentric to the point of being actually cracked in the head, there was no finer fuser of things magical and muggle than Aberforth. A secret compartment that he suspected of being just to the left of where it should have been yielded an unfamiliar-looking piece of parchment. Strange… he didn't remember putting that in there. In fact, he didn't even know what it was. It certainly wasn't the item he'd been after.

He tapped it and said "Reveal". At once, writing appeared:

We present our compliments to the headmaster and beg him to remember the passphrase, the idiot.

_Ah._ Well, well, well. This certainly brought back memories. He'd thought he'd lost it at some point after the first war.

Tapping it with his wand, he intoned:

"I solemnly swear that I am up to much good."

Ink seeped through the page and writhed into letters:

**Messers Moony**, **Wormtail, Padfoot** and **Prongs** are forced to present

**The Marauder's Map, Official Version.**

Note that due to writer/client confidentiality, the location of the holder of the original Map will not appear on this document. Because we wish to give our clients a sporting chance, and also since _someone_ forced this sacrilegious task upon us on pain of Potions detention for a month, you will appear on his.

Please also note that if you, by some horrendous and sickening chain of events, are Severus Snape, this document will self-destruct in Five seconds. Padfoot wanted to make it instantaneous, but Moony insisted that we give you at least half a chance.

PS. You know who you are. You'll pay for this one day, you old coot.

A smile framing his face for the first time in days, Albus Dumbledore went to work. It looked like he had his very own Drawer of Requirement.

-----------------------------------

Yes yes yes, I know. It's a Deus Ex Machina if I ever wrote one. But consider this: it's been in a desk for the last couple of decades. A dangerous desk.

Happy New Year.


	8. Chapter 8: Null Time

**Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom Chapter 8:**

**Null Time**

_Tear along the dotted lines and insert standard disclaimer here. _……………

:…………..:

_The rest of this work will have a far more serious tone to it. The tone of some of the last chapter, was, I feel, rather out of keeping with the plot, and for this I apologise. This is but a filler, designed to reset that tone. _

Two days had passed. Ron was due to be discharged from the Hospital wing, pending regular check-ups to ensure that there had been no lasting mental or physical damage. There had been no flashbacks for a few days now, and for that he was grateful – but he was itching to get back into his normal life, schoolwork or no schoolwork. There was far too much at stake for him to be lying here dozing.

Malfoy had disappeared, had vanished off both maps, "official" and clandestine alike. In his towertop office, Albus Dumbledore sighed, paced and planned as the scope of the war widened and curled its intangible tendrils once more into the heart of normalcy. He had no doubt that when it all came down to it, he might very well be fighting some of his own students, past… and present. He was far too wise, far too experienced to think that it would not come to pass once more.

In the end, he had to remind himself that he was fighting an enemy, one that would show no quarter, no mercy at all. His world had been devoid of such enemies for only a little while, and yet, like a cold, dark draught, they and their actions slid slowly back into the spaces filled with light and hope, and cast new and more terrible shadows upon the minds of wizardkind.

He hoped that he would not have to become like them, steel-like and intransigent, punishing and deadly. He had forced himself to be, a long time – oh, a very long time ago, so it seemed! – but now? Could it be done? Could he become like that again, cold and hard and unmerciful, filled with violence, destruction and death?

He was, he realised, an old man, asking himself old men's questions.

He continued his tireless pacing under the gaze of wizards who were long-dead and now, by compassion, silent.

Harry and Hermione moved like two sides of the same spun coin, at times one following the other, at others hand in hand and side by side. It was as if an intangible line had been drawn between them, faint and fuzzy and golden. Classes drew them apart, thinning the thread, and the evenings found them in the common room, the air between them alive with unsaid things, the thickness of the thread growing as each toiled silently in their work. Occasionally one would look up and gaze at the other, and they would, within an instant, look back and smile before working on. The people around them noticed this, and smiled and nodded and, in some cases, exchanged coins, for the inevitable had at last happened, and things, in a small way, were finally how they should be.

But slowly, so slowly as to be almost unnoticeable to an outside observer, Hogwarts became quiet, a place of murmurs and nods and glances as each student weighed his or her thoughts and found them uneasy.  
The disappearance of another of their number had wrought a strange change in them. It was as if Malfoy's flight – along, it seemed, with a few select others who had simply vanished - had sounded a tiny, shrill alarm bell in their minds, saying that all was not well and that darker days were ahead. There was a sense of time being slowly squeezed to a halt, one day passing another with no marker except sleep. Time itself had been divided into two distinct periods: one before Malfoy's decomposition and flight, one after.

There could no longer be any doubt in any of their minds. The lines were being inexorably drawn, the pieces weighed and measured. Only the board was unknown, and that would only be revealed at the last second. Time was short, and getting shorter by the day.

With the coming of any kind of feeling of imminent terminality, the human mind is freed from outside pressures. Extraordinary, unlikely things become possible, and it is easy to form new bonds and feelings. Nothing really matters anymore, and old worries slip away. There is freedom, of a sort.

And so it was within the walls of the castle. New relationships sprang up like orchids after a storm, giving rise to snatched moments of tenderness and passion in the niches and closets of the school. Even Argus Filch, under his crusty and worn exterior, was affected. He started giving up his patrol of the more remote parts of the place and retired early to his quarters, murmuring softly to his cat and running his old, gnarled hands between her ears over and over again.

At nights now, couples sat in the Owlery, the Astronomy Tower, or between the crenulations of the battlements outside, sometimes face to face, sometimes one in the arms of the other, outlined against scarlet sunsets and sharp silver moonlight. There was no need for privacy. There was no judgement, no condemnation. Some talked softly. Some sat and cuddled and kissed, interrupted only by the occasional fall of a feather or a rustling of wings. A few others, at times, led their partner by the hand into places and rooms unknown, seeking a more complete form of fulfilment and comfort.

It was happiness, of a sort.


	9. Chapter 9: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

**Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom Chapter 9:**

**Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy**

_The chapter title is borrowed from the John Le Carre book of the same name. Usual disclaimer applies._

A dawn came, and it found Luna Lovegood cradling Ron's head softly on her lap up on the south Tower terrace. Clear amber light spilled over them, illuminating the texture of their blankets, throwing the folds and creases of the heavy wool into sharp relief as Luna's hair curled and swayed in the slight morning breeze that cascaded in off the mountains. They both shifted as the new coolness washed over the terrace, and Luna found herself looking back into his eyes, his gaze steady.

She ran her hands through his dishevelled hair as he stretched and stifled a yawn.

"Huuuat time izzt?" He grinned up at her.

She gently but firmly placed her hand over his mouth, ignoring the "Mmmph!" of surprise from him as she did so. She whispered smoothly, "If you don't learn to speak properly, Ronald Weasley, you'll never get what you want. Now tell me what you want."

"I want breakfast" he said petulantly.

"That's better." She caught his sudden grin.

"Just breakfast?"

"Well…for now."

She led him down the stairs, blankets trailing over the dew-soaked moss growing between the cracks in the mellow stone.

Their relationship was one of the sudden ones. It had been like throwing a brick through a greenhouse door, a shot in the dark on the blackest of nights. One moment Ron had been alone in the Hospital wing, the next, Luna had been there, looking after him between classes. When he'd finally asked why, she'd given him the first line of last year's Quidditch song.

_Weasley is our King_.

It had eventually snapped into place.

"I like you, Ron. You're strong, dependable and you love your friends."

He lay there, stunned. This was _Loon – no, Luna _talking to him. _She likes me? Merlin, what the heck do I say to that? And what does she mean by that _Weasley is our King _thing? _

_Hey, wait. She was…humming…it…all…last……term……………Damn!_

He blinked. She kissed him, her bottlecap earrings bouncing off his cheek.

"Be with me, Ronald?"

Utterly disorientated, totally confused, Ron Weasley thought _why not?_

And now, a few days later, he followed her down the stairs and through the corridors to breakfast.

Suddenly she hurried ahead of him. Sensing mischief in the air, he matched her pace, only to be left behind as she broke into a full-blown sprint. Startled, he tried to follow but lost her around a bend in the stonework. He hurtled round the corner, wondering what was wrong, and ran smack into her embrace.

"You really are quite predictable, you know."

She released him, and they walked the rest of the way, their hearts high and their laughter clear. Breakfast was a leisurely affair, as it was a Sunday. His work lay in his folders, done the previous night.

He knew he was changing, and the change was not all bad.

_He was in a dark place, and despair was thick upon the heavy, cloying air. There was no light to see by, and for the first time in his life he was afraid. The stone floor had given him no comfort – not that there was any of that here._

_There was a scrape of metal upon metal, and a rectangle of light opened in the wall. He whimpered in fear. It was finally time. They were going to take his life away. His LIFE! He knew it as sheer certainty. There could be no mistake. _

_Unable to resist, he found himself walking between two spectral, black shapes. He tried not to look at them, and failed. Which one would it be? What would they do to him afterwards? How much would he suffer? What did it take to destroy a soul? The awful questions sleeted through his mind as he and his guards approached a door. Beyond here, then? Or was it the next door, or the one after that? He found himself praying for an endless succession of doors, stretching on for eternity, keeping him safe and alive._

_He was through it now, and into another place, a place of gleaming steel and tile lined with instruments both magical and muggle. A small tank full of green liquid rested on a pedestal in the middle of the room. Behind it, a line of eight people stood clad in white robes with a purple M embroidered onto the left lapel. Their eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking, uncaring. His terrified mind noticed the bisecting wand and bone superimposed on the engram. Ministry Healers, then. What unspeakable things were they going to do to him? _

_He stared at the tank, feeling sick. It looked to be slightly larger than a Penseive and was as deep as it was wide, a perfect cube. Within, there seemed to be a slight roiling of the liquid, and for a moment, it seemed inviting, almost friendly. A tiny piece of the fear died away. A second later, though, his subconscious prompted him into realising that it was exactly the right size for…something? _

_He finally realised his fate, and his mind bucked as he fainted at the horror._

_Within the memory of the condemned man, Ron awoke. Blind – for his host was unconscious - he felt the dull terror coursing through the man's mind and panicked. If this was going to end the way he thought it was… He had to stay calm. There might just be something important here and if he didn't let the maelstrom of emotions get in the way he might be able to pick it up. And yet, every time…the horror…_

_"Revive him." The voice was male, cold and clinical to the sharpest point of efficiency. "The interface spells will not work unless he is awake."_

_Another voice spoke in the blankness. "Evanesco."_

_The room faded into view. He was flat on his back and try as he might, he couldn't move. His wrists were strapped into the floor, as were his ankles. Even his head was restrained. His eyes came to rest on the line of men in white, and caught another pair looking straight back at him. They looked familiar, somehow. _

It's begun, _he thought_. It all ends here. Right here.

I'm so scared.

But….

_"He is ready, Senior Healer."_

_"Begin."_

_One of the healers, a middle-aged man with oiled black hair walked towards him, wand out. "Caput petrifico", he intoned._

_Now even his eyes couldn't move. He was looking straight up at the white ceiling tiles and the brightness of it all was starting to hurt. He wanted to blink so badly… he didn't want to die here. He was afraid._

But, _he thought, _but somehow, the Master will save me.

We are not called Death Eaters for nothing.

_With that, some of the fear passed away. It did not last long. As the man started casting light began to flow between the wand, him, and the tank, and with each spell he began to feel more and more panicked. There was a constant beam of cyan light coming from the wand now, and his hair was straining at the roots. The pain in his skull was not intolerable, but there was something in his head that just wouldn't go away…_

_The spells stopped. The light faded._

_"His mind is bound, Senior Healer."_

_There was silence. _

_Two more men came and stood by his head. They looked down at him with ice in their eyes. _

_Then there was hope. There was a familiar face there… but something was wrong, it was smiling at him… This wasn't how it was supposed to go…_

_"Cranium Incisio, Memoriae et Anima Evacuo." The familiar face backed away and remained silent._

_Finally, there was pain. A slitting, searing pain from the nape of his neck around to his brow, a line of fire from the back of his skull to the front, and through it all he could see the familiar face, and it was cold and closed, a final condemnation even as the memories of the rapes and murders and tortures that he had performed and locked away somewhere in his mind came flooding out in a stream of horror._

_He had no time left at all. Through the hazy memories and the crushing pain he tried to pray again, pray for a quick death to end the agony. _

_There was another pain now, in the base of his skull, as if he'd cricked his neck one too many times. He knew what it was even as he felt the slow stretching of his spine, the cartilage cracking and popping in a torrent of explosions along his back. There was a crack from somewhere deep within himself as his nerves snapped in a blaze of agony, and then he only had time to scream deep within his shattered mind as his brain was torn from his skull and he was hurled into the blackness._

He sat up so fast that he knocked her off the makeshift bed. The next second she was wrapped around him tightly, stroking his hair, whispering calm words into his ear even as he cradled his skull in his hands, trying to forget, trying to remember that his brain was still intact and his mind was sound.

She hushed him, holding him to her chest. The mixture of smooth, warm skin and soft hair quietened him.

She cradled him. "What did you dream, my love?"

"It was…one of those ones." He buried himself more deeply into her sweet flesh in an attempt to drown out the memories. Overhead, the moonlight filtered through the slits in the top walls of the Owlery, bathing the floor in silver patches and highlighting the small skeletons left there by the feathered messengers, making them gleam.

"My poor Ronald", she sighed as she stretched upwards. "My poor knight." She was magnificent in the moonlight, an ethereal creature, flaxen hair falling to her waist and coiling around her small breasts, her skin ivory in the cold and lifeless blaze. She covered him with strands of her hair, arranging the threads over his neck and chest. For some reason, it always seemed to calm him, no matter how agitated he might be. She cradled him to her again as her hands rewrapped the charmed, heated blankets around them.

At length, his breathing slowed, becoming even and deep. He was on the verge of drifting off again when he recalled the face of the man in the Death Eater's last thoughts.

A face that, in spite of everything, he knew well.

One that had sat at the table at home in the Burrow countless times amidst the family dinners, talking of electricity and plugs with his dad.

One that looked older and greyer now, but one that he could still recognise perfectly.

_Perkins._


	10. Chapter 10: Amina

**Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom Chapter 10: **

**Amina**

****

Standard disclaimer applies. Ego Harrius Fulvinarus non proprieto. Kudos to those who spot the Anime reference.

University and life in general have become very busy, but I now have a clear plan for the rest of this story. Look forwards to more frequent updates as well as a few drabbles along the way!

* * *

The six of them were gathered together in the high room, the silver instruments ticking and whirring away, tracing endless waltzes in the air.

"We haven't been on good terms, lately, have we, Harry?"

Albus Dumbledore faced the near-circle of chairs and swept his gaze from one side to the other. Harry, with Hermione perched on the armrest of his chair. Ron and Luna next to him, their arrangement much the same. In the chair off to one side and recessed slightly from the group, Professor McGonagall. He himself had opted for one of his own squashy conjured creations in order to subtly soften the line between student and staff, hoping for to create a more open, less confrontational meeting. He couldn't yet tell if it was working.

"No, Professor. We haven't." Harry was tired after a night's sleep broken with dreams where he and Sirius had sat talking quietly in the Veil Room, perched on the rim of the dais.

_"It's not so bad, you know. Being, well, dead." He had grinned at this, his schoolboy smile lighting up his face._

_"You're a figment of my imagination, Sirius. You're gone." Even in the silence of the chamber, Harry's voice had sounded hollow. Try as he might he couldn't bring himself to look his dead Godfather in the face. _

_"I'm closer than you think, Harry."_

_"Shut up. You're dead. Even Lupin thinks you're gone." _

_"Blaming yourself, Harry? I wouldn't, if I were you."_

_"I got you killed."_

_"I shouldn't have taunted my dear cousin. Stupid thing to do, really. Forget about it. You're not to blame."_

_"It's my fault, if I hadn't had those damned visions then…" He was starting to feel angry. How could Sirius feel so blasé about it?_

_"Really, Harry." He chuckled, a live sound in a dead place. "Whose decision was it to come after you?"_

_"I shouldn't have…"_

_"I came because I wanted to, knowing that I might not leave this place alive." His tone softened and turned serious. "Think about it, Harry." He stood to leave._

_"Wait! Where are you going!" Sirius turned looked at him fondly, grey eyes twinkling ever so slightly in the musty, still room. _

_"I'm going…somewhere else. Don't worry, Harry. I'll come back soon. We can talk some more then." He started walking towards the centre of the dais. Before Harry could react he had swept the veil to one side and stepped through the archway as easily and as calmly as someone walking though a door._

_He stood there for a moment, uneasy. There was no sense of loss, just a faint feeling of annoyance, as if someone had put the telephone down on him. Putting it all down to a hyperactive imagination – there was no way, surely, that Voldemort was planning a second attack on the Ministry, and therefore on his mind – he walked out of the door into a passageway. It was dark and deserted. Well, at least that made sense, he mused. It was night-time after all. _

_He paused, his mind momentarily a jumble. He was controlling his own dreams. He'd just, of his own free will, walked out of a door. There was no disembodiment, no third-person perspective. Something was not right. _

_Without realising it he found himself in front of the blank door that had melted Sirius's knife. Well, he had control, and things were obeying his rules now. Why not…?_

_He reached to tug open the door, and then shrugged. He stepped through the wood. He might as well do things his way from now on. After all, he reasoned, there was no door. This was really only his mi…_

_Before him stood a pedestal; brilliantly white and classical in design, it topped out at chest height. The room around it was of the same white, perfect and unbroken, a full fifty feet from centre to edge. The walls appeared to be curved and utterly smooth, and then, as his eyes adapted to the perspective, he realised that he was standing inside what could only be a mathematically perfect sphere that seemed to glow from within. He looked down, and saw that his feet were not touching the floor. He was suspended in mid-air. _

_Curious, he took a step forward, and from somewhere beneath his foot came a clear, perfectly modulated note. He looked down, seeing a thickness in the perspective that he had not previously noticed. He took another step, and from beneath him came another note of a slightly different modulation. He realised that he was standing on a sheet of unblemished crystal, and it sang as he walked towards the pedestal. _

_Topping it was the most flawless gem he had ever seen. It was the size of his clenched fist and the colour of a seashell. It was translucent and seemed to pulse faintly in shades of soft pink, never quite the same from one moment to the next. There was something incredibly familiar about it._

_I know what this is, he thought. This is the door that's always locked. This is the Heart. _

_He was at the foot of the pedestal now, the gem level with his chest. It seemed to stop pulsing and instead shone with a steady glow. _

_Having well and truly learnt over the years that sticking one's hands near or into unknown magical substances was a most unwise thing to do, he circled it once. Then he walked around it again, slightly closer. He noticed that the closer he got to the gem the stronger the glow became. The further away he went from it, however, the weaker the luminescence. _

_It's reacting to me, he thought. It's reacting to… what? There's no quality called "heart", is there? Unless it's what Dumbledore meant by spirit… but that's another problem of definition right there. What's it really reacting to? Magical power? Tenacity?_

_He sat on the transparent floor and tried very hard to think. He'd thrown off Riddle's attempt at possession thanks to "heart". The same quality had led him to challenge Quirrel, the Basilisk, numerous Dementors and Voldemort himself, in his restored form. Not to mention the Department of Mysteries. They were all linked by some motivating force or combination of forces that were gathered under the moniker of "heart". _

_Ah. Bravery? No. Bravery was doing what you thought had to be done in spite of anything that might conspire to stop you doing it. Bravery could easily masquerade as foolishness: the Veil Chamber had taught him that. _

_Altruism? Selflessness? That "saving-people-thing" that Hermione had confronted him with? Maybe. Or maybe it's a combination of all of them and there's no one word for what "heart" really is. _

_I'll go with that, he thought. This glow is making my scar ache. _

_He looked over his shoulder and found that the way in had vanished. He somehow knew that it would be impossible to come out the way he had come in. That left him trapped. He walked over to the gem again and stared into its depths. It was blood-red now thanks to his proximity, the facets gleaming as those of the Philosopher's stone once had in another chamber long ago and far away. His scar was throbbing now, and still no answers came to him. What was it? Goodness? Purity? He was certain that he had neither in any great amount, at least not more than the next person. That train of thought led him back to Hermione, and then something unexpected happened._

_His scar stopped hurting. The pain vanished. The stone lit up and flared a deep rose, turning the chamber a bold, translucent pink. An air of contentment suffused the chamber and he calmed down. That's weird… it reacts to thoughts. I wonder if…?_

_He decided to test the theory._

_Taking a deep breath and steeling himself mentally, he thought of the Killing Curse, of Voldemort and of the torture of the Muggles two years ago at the World Cup. He concentrated on the Unforgivable flung at Bellatrix Lestrange not so far from here and not so long ago. He had wanted to cause excruciating pain, to render her limb from limb… _

_And now the crystal flared scarlet, a deep, bloody glare that spoke of hell and pain and fire. There was a whispering throughout the chamber and a strange, somehow intangible wind blew through him. It had become a bad place. He tried to hold onto his thoughts but they slid away as his forehead erupted in pain and he latched back onto the memory of his friends. The redness died and became pink once more, and the pain in his forehead died away. _

_He felt drained and tired. Bad thoughts did bad things and good thoughts did good things in this strange place. Whatever it was. He wanted to go home. He wanted to wake up._

_On some subconscious level he knew that there was only one possible way back and that it was right in front of him. Fixing his thoughts firmly on Hermione and Hogwarts he reached out and grasped the jewel. At once the translucent, dancing pink light erupted into white and he was blinded. There was a sensation of light-headedness, and he woke up with a start in his towertop bed, breathing hard and damp from exertion.. _

_A warm, soft weight that was partially draped over him shifted slightly and gave a small sigh as his pulse settled and his breathing eased. His last thoughts before he fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep were to find Dumbledore and to tell him everything…_

_Little did he know that up in the Owlery, Ron was having the same thoughts._

"…and that's when I woke up, Professor."

He'd heard the same line twice within half an hour and it made him uneasy. He had one concrete lead, one secret that he had thought dead and buried and many grave worries. He considered his actions before looking at each member of the group in the face. When he spoke, it was to the room at large.

"Harry, Miss Granger, I would like to speak with you in private. You will undoubtedly compare notes afterwards, but for now… Mister Weasley, Miss Lovegood, if I could ask you to please wait outside for the moment? Minerva, would you accompany them? Thank you."

As the door swung to behind the ageing witch, Albus faced the young couple in front of him, hands steepled under his chin. Hermione was still perched on Harry's armrest with one hand on his shoulder and her legs swinging freely over the side of the chair. Harry himself, although visibly tired, was looking right at him with a slight air of shuttered defiance, his hands in his lap but his head slightly inclined towards her. Dumbledore remembered that James and Lilly had once sat in that same way in this very office, and, then as now, Albus knew that he was facing two very determined people. He only hoped that history was not about to repeat itself. Steeling himself and forcing a much calmer tone than that which he felt like using, he began to speak.

"Do you know what that place is called, Harry?" he asked.

Harry's eyes widened slightly before he responded. He hadn't been expecting the question.

"No. But I do know what it was. It was the room you were talking to me about when… at the end of last year. The one where you said the Ministry studies the Heart."

"Correct. That room is called the Chapel of the Heart, and as you saw for yourself, only those who are pure in thought can enter or even be in there without feeling pain. How you came to be there in your dream I do not know, but from now on I myself will be teaching you Occlumency. After my meeting with Voldemort in the Ministry, the nature of our relationship must have become obvious to him. Privet Drive's protection guards against it but there is still a possibility that he is subtly influencing your subconscious even under my renewed protection here– we must leave him no gaps. Inform me at once if any of what came to pass during the night repeats itself. A troubled mind, as you have seen, does not make for happy dreams."

"As to you, Miss Granger, I expect that you will wish to help him as much as you can. Indeed I ask you to do so, for I cannot be at Harry's side all the time. Your first lessons will start tomorrow at eight O'clock in the evening in here. The password is Sugar Quill."

He turned to where Fawkes was nestled upon his perch and whistled a low note. The bird vanished in a flash of fire and moments later Ron, Luna and McGonagall reappeared in the doorway. Fawkes, however, was nowhere to be seen.

They sat, their faces stony. There was an awkward moment as Ron and Harry exchanged glances and then Dumbledore spoke again.

"Mr Weasley. I do not wish to keep you any longer than is necessary, but you have my thanks. Our…mutual friends are now more fully informed than ever. Your father has also been contacted and is on his way here. As for your companion… Miss Lovegood, I thank you also."

He paused, inwardly unsure of how to continue. There were certain things to prepare, ones which would change the atmosphere within the walls. The timing, however, was uncertain…. Everything was still shrouded in mystery.

"Times have changed. We are at war. Certain…behaviours that have been taking place inside the castle will be ignored. The rules have been relaxed. We must prepare as best as we can. Learn all you can as fast as you can. I shall be announcing all of this tomorrow morning." He walked round the desk and stood at the centre of the group, tall and assured once more.

"Mr Weasley, Miss Lovegood: Look after yourselves. Report anything abnormal to myself or a member of staff. Harry, Miss Granger: Inform me at once of any further visions."

He sat behind the desk again, a clear sign that the meeting was at an end. McGonagall remained impassive as the rest of them filed out.

As the door closed she sat stiffly on a chair and faced him.

"Albus, they're afraid. They have no idea of what's coming. Nary a one."

"I know, Minerva. Call it an old man's foolishness, but I have been deceived. Not even we of the Wizengamot ever dreamed of anything like this. There are atrocities here that I would not have dared speak of. It is time for me to face my responsibilities. We must act before the sleeper does."

"What is he going to do?"

"I do not know, but I suspect. Even I cannot see the future, but there are deeply unsettling things happening here. I must consult the High Council at once. I leave the school in your hands. Take care of them, allow them their thoughts and feelings and help those who feel lost. I will be back in a few hours at least, at the worst within a week. Take care of them."

With that, he whistled again and Fawkes appeared in a bright burst of flame. Grasping the bird's tail, he vanished in the same way.

Minerva McGonagall stood alone in the deserted office.

"And who will take care of you, Albus?" she thought.


	11. Chapter 11: Umbra

**Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom **

**Chapter 11: Umbra**

****

Standard disclaimer applies. I'm getting really bored with saying this so if you _must _read it, crack the following substitution cypher: H cn mns nvm Gzqqx Onssdq. Apologies for the lack of updates but see my other scribbles for explanation. Also, exams are upon me.

There was a moment where space itself seemed to twist and wrap itself around him. His feet left the ground for an instant and then he landed in a familiar antechamber, Fawkes's own brand of magic flaring harmlessly around him. This place was known to only twelve other witches and wizards in the world and was utterly deserted. He felt safe, but he knew he had to move fast.

The room was the size of a small hall, sparely lit and without decorations save a dusty old chandelier suspended by a rusty chain from the ceiling. Dark wooden panelling patina'd with age abounded throughout and there was a panelled set of double doors at the other end. Curiously there didn't seem to be any other way in or out. A herringbone pattern of wooden boards was laid out upon the floor, filthy and gritty, the air was bone dry and smelled of dust, and it would have been obvious to even the most casual observer that this was a place not frequently used.

Dumbledore turned look up at the chandelier where Fawkes had perched himself. There was a flurry of wings from above and the bird alighted on his shoulder. His wand in his hand, he approached right side of the double doors. Just before he reached them, however, he carefully removed a small package around the size of box of tissues from his robes and set it to one side. He turned back to the doors.

There was a small wooden box there, unadorned. Where a keyhole might have been, there was only a small circular aperture the size of a knut. Into this he inserted his wand and then spoke clearly:

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore".

The box began to glow a deep orange, illuminating the tired wood around it. He stepped back, leaving his wand and reached for an ornate golden door handle that had suddenly appeared in the woodwork. He then fished a strange key from somewhere deep within the recesses of his robe.

Of blued silver and highly polished, it caught the meagre light from the chandelier and amplified it tenfold. It had many tines all over the shaft, some of which stuck out at impossible angles. There was hint of other tines there that seemed not quite visible to ordinary light. Some of them branched into two and then came back on themselves and others protruded from nowhere.

He inserted it into the striking-plate below the handle, the surface glowing blue as the key slid into the seemingly solid metal with no resistance at all. A twist filled the room with white light, and when it receded the room had changed almost beyond recognition. Brilliant mahogany tones covered the walls as the patina vanished. The carved wood was now throwing off a deep lustre, lit from above by the newly resplendent and blazing crystal chandelier, and the herringbone floor glowed. He retrieved his wand and, tapping it to the striking-plate, pulled on the door handle. There was a torrent of clicks from the doors as some fiendishly complicated lock released and they swung open, revealing a large chamber panelled in a lighter wood.

Thirteen chairs were arranged around a circular table inlaid with threads of wood of all colours and directly over the centre of it hung another, larger chandelier. The atmosphere was light and open, as if an army of cleaners had just been through. Sunshine poured into the hall from ornate windows high above. Doubtless the miraculous transformation on the other side of the door had been repeated in here as well. Dumbledore walked to the table, ignoring Fawkes who was swooping around the room and sat in one of the chairs. His air brisk and businesslike, he placed the package on the table and unwrapped it.

It was a stone bowl, a miniature Penseive. Removing the wooden cover he placed in at the centre of the table where the inlaid paths of wood met. He tapped one of them, saying, "Nuntiam mitto" as he did so. The inlaying on the table glowed for a moment, highlighting eleven paths each leading to a spot on the table directly in front of a chair.

He sat back and summoned Fawkes to him. As the warm weight of the bird alighted on his shoulder, he gave a small sigh of relief. The High Council had been summoned. Everything was in place. All he had to do was wait.

They arrived in short order, each placing their wand in the verifier and taking a seat at the table. From all over the globe they came, from every continent and way of life. A wizened old tribal elder sat next to a woman who looked as if she had stepped out of a muggle business fashion catalogue. Two suited men took their places with ease. From their demeanour and to a lesser extent the cut of their suits, it was obvious to all that they were used to seats of power. An eastern woman in a white kimono followed a man in dungarees and a bush hat through the door. The last arrivals were a girl in a colourful pashmina, a powerful man wearing a Stetson and three others in traditional wizarding robes. Each sat at a random place at the table with a minimum of fuss and waited for each of their compatriots to settle. Dumbledore stood and cleared his throat.

"I hereby declare the High Council of the Wizengamot to be in session. Let us all be of one mind."

"Of one mind," the Council echoed.

The ritual over and with a sense of accelerating time encroaching upon him, Dumbledore came swiftly to the point. His eyes resting firmly on each member in turn, he addressed them. "I have gathered you here so that you may hear the full details of the disturbing events that have occurred inside the British Ministry. You are all aware of the return of Lord Voldemort…" at this, the Council nodded as one"… and the circumstances of his attack on the Hall of Prophecy within last summer."

"In the wake of certain events pertaining to the engagement fought there, a number of disturbing issues have arisen to which we shall eventually require a solution. However, we have scant time in which to act. We have been deceived and betrayed. The Ministry has remained infiltrated by Voldemort's followers and continues so to this day. The Penseive in the centre contains all the information relating to the events of the last few weeks. Please examine it closely."

The next hour slid by in a barrage of questions, a group tour of the thoughts in the penseive (which contained Ron's memories of the Ministry foray the previous summer plus the rest of his flashbacks) and much argument. The light had all but faded from the room by the time that twelve weary witches and wizards had come to their conclusions.

"There can be no doubt that Minister Fudge is implicated, Chief Warlock. He must be removed from his post, detained and questioned." Thus spoke one of the men in business suits, and there was a slight twang to his voice. There was a general nod from the assembled heads. One decision.

"The death of Broderick Bode was probably brought about by the Sleeper. There can be little doubt that one exists, yet we only have the Weasley boy's testimony…" This from the woman in the suit.

"Would you risk inaction, after all we have seen?" the kimono'd lady countered. "Even if he has made a mistake, such allegations are not lightly made. He must be captured."

"And this…shadow group? What are we to make of them?"

At this point Dumbledore spoke up. "High Counsellor , the Death Chamber is, unfortunately, aptly named. It contains what we see as Death in its purest form, but as to the use to which it was put… Cornelius Fudge will have to explain himself."

"What of his predecessor?"

"Miss Bagnold will also be questioned." Another collective nod. Two decisions.

"Aye, and when it comes to it how about pulling in a few Unspeakables too? Someone's bound to know about a great big tank of brains, right?" An anitpodean accent filled the room, emanating from the man in the Stetson. "Not to mention that we've never heard of anything like this, ever. What the strewth was going on in there, that's what I want to know."

"Patience, High Counsellor. The removal of Cornelius Fudge may well ring alarm bells in certain people's heads that we do not want rung."

"Yes, indeed. We must move quietly. Perhaps a short holiday somewhere would do him good… for his health, obviously…" Yet more nods.

"And then…?"

There was hardness in Dumbledore's voice as his memories came trickling back. He'd been unable to square the person he had been with the venerable, grandfather-like figure that he presented to his students, but the hardness was there, nonetheless. It was necessary. Here and now, he was Chief Warlock. _War_lock. Maybe the rest of his old self would become necessary too before long.

"And then we strike. Hard, but unseen and above all quietly. Perkins must be captured and level nine of the Ministry must be watched at all times. We shall have to find some pretext upon which to question the Unspeakables. There may be more than one sleeper left. We may have to use Veritaserum."

"What of the Aurors, Chief Warlock? Some of them will doubtless side with Fudge."

The other suited man spoke quietly in response. "After the Minister has left for his… holiday, we can bring the administration under our direct control. There will be no dissent, not if things go smoothly enough so that we are not seen to be interfering. After all, we do nominate the head of government. I daresay that someone will prove…amenable to _guidance_ now and again."

His companion nodded thoughtfully. "After all, going abroad can be so very dangerous in these troubled times. I am sure that the Minister will understand that his…poor health will prevent him from re-assuming his responsibilities."

"If, that is, we do not send him to Azkaban."

"Indeed."

"Chief Warlock, how many Aurors would be on our side in the event of… trouble?"

Dumbledore cast a glance at the rest of the council. They were the very best witches and wizards of their respective countries or territories, capable administrators, diplomats, fighters and politicians, but the last decade and a half had softened wills. It would be best for there not to be any alarms raised at all, but if it did come to it… He gave his answer, hating it.

"For certain, two. Possibly as many as ten."

There was a collective straightening of backs. "Only two?" asked the model-like witch. "How… wait, the need for secrecy?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Cornelius Fudge has been slowly restricting my contacts in the Ministry ever since I was voted out of both this body and the International Confederation. Now that I am back, and scared of my – apparent" he allowed himself a small smile as he remembered the last time that Fudge had been in his office "– plot to claim his position, all those who see the world as I do have been either sacked or silenced. We cannot, therefore, count on the Aurors. We must do this by stealth. Question him, find out the truth, and simultaneously detain Perkins - quietly. We are already in a state of open war, but this also must be done with the minimum of fuss. If there are any more sleepers amongst the Aurors – and it is entirely possible that Mr Weasley's experiences may have missed certain things – then we must be sure that we do not arouse suspicion beyond having Mr Perkins "disappear".

We must be seen to operate as normal and there must be as little disturbance as possible. To that end, I propose that we "promote" Mr Perkins. I shall take care of this as and when the opportunity arises."

The kimono'd lady smiled like a snake. "I see", she purred. "How thespian of you. Shall we promote him "to Glory"?"

"No, High Counsellor. To the Centaur Liaison Office."

Reader's Note: Promoting someone "to Glory" is a way of giving them a fast-track route to the afterlife, and the Centaur Liaison Office is a dead-end department in the Ministry: Office gossip says that any holder of the post of Centaur Liaison Officer isn't going to last much longer as a civil servant. See Dangerous Beasts and Where to Find Them (Bloomsbury) for more info.

Like your madness? Read my laughfic "Puffskein Panic!"


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